#      / 


j;*;  ^' 


GRNlA, 

,,  CALIF. 


ON 

THE 

M 

E   X 

I    C    A 

N 

H  I  G  H  T,  A  S  D  S 

Jittlj  a  PaHBUtg  0§iltmpa^  ni  (Sinbn 


/ST>^f 


BY 


WILLIAM  SEYMOUR  EDWARDS 

Author  of  "  In  To  The  Yukon,"  "  Through  Scan- 
dinavia to  Moscow,"  etc. 


CINCH^NATI 
PRESS   OF  JENNINGS   AND   GRAHAM 


\e^^v 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
William  Seymour  Edwards 


^c^ 


■\. 


^w^i^ 


F 


Julius  H.  Seymour,  Otto  Ulrich  von  Schrader, 

Edmund  Seymour,  and  Rudolph  Matz, 

Companions,    Comrades,    and 

Fellow-Travellers  of 

"CAMP   FLAP-JACK" 

€h£ee  yji0«s  arc  nffittixxnnitl^  bsitittdtit. 


FOREWORD 

These  pages  contain  the  impressions  of  a 
casual  traveller — a  few  letters  written  to  my 
friends. 

Upon  the  temperate  Highlands  of  Mexico, 
a  mile  and  more  above  the  sea,  I  was  astonished 
and  delighted  at  the  salubrity  of  climate,  the  fer- 
tility of  soil,  the  luxuriance  of  tree  and  plant, 
the  splendor  and  beauty  of  the  cities,  the  intelli- 
gence and  progressiveness  of  the  people,  the 
orderliness  and  beneficence  of  the  governmental 
rule. 

In  Cuba  I  caught  the  newborn  sentiment  for 
liberty  and  order,  and  at  the  same  time  came 
curiously  into  touch  with  restive  leaders,  who 
even  then  boldly  announced  the  intention  to  plot 
and  wreck  that  liberty  and  order  by  sinister 
revolution,  if  their  wild  spirits  should  find  no 
other  way  to  seize  and  hold  command. 

S 


Foreword 

If  there  shall  be  aught  among  these  letters 
to  interest  the  reader,  I  shall  welcome  another 
to  the  little  circle  for  whose  perusal  they  were 
originally  penned. 

William  Seymour  Edwards. 

Charleston-Kanawha,  West  Virginia, 
November  1,  1906. 


,<;.•)? 


CONTENTS 

Chaiter  Pagb 

I.    Flying   Impressions   between    Charles- 
ton-Kanawha AND  New  Orleans,       -  15 

II.    The  Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans,  25 

III.  Southwestward  to  the  Border,      -         -  36 

IV.  On  to  Mexico  City,  -                  -         -  44 
V.    First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City,          -  56 

VI.    Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life,  65 

VII.    A  Mexican  Bullfight,    -         -         -         -  75 

VIIL^-FfeOM  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back,     -  86 

A-^lX.    A  Journey  Over  Lofty  Tablelands,       -  99 

^      X.    A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence,  107 

XL    Inguran    Mines  —  Five    Thousand    Six 

Hundred  Feet  Below  Ario,       -         -  117 

XII.    Antique  Methods  of  Mining,     -         -  128 

XIII.  Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality,        -  142 

XIV.  Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat,  157 
XV.    MoRELiA — The    Capital  of    the    State 

OF    Michoacan — Her    Streets — Her 

Parks — Her  Churches — Her  Music,  168 

7 


Chapter 

XVI. 


XVII. 


XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 
XXII. 

XXIII. 
XXIV. 


Contents 

MORELIA   AND    TOLUCA ThE    MARKETS 

The  Colleges — The  Schools — ^The 
Ancient  and  the  Modern  Spirit, 

CUERNAVACA ThE      CoUNTRY      SeAT      OF 

Montezuma,  of  Cortez  and  Spanish 
Viceroys,  of  Maximilian — A  Pleas- 
ant Watering  Place  of  Modern 
Mexico, 

The  Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico 
City — Over  the  Mountains  to  the 
Sea  Coast — The  Ancient  City  of 
Vera  Cruz,        .         .         .         -         - 

Voyaging  Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
AND  Straits  of  Yucatan  from  Vera 
Cruz  to  Progresso  and  Havana,  - 

The  City  of  "  Habana  " — Incidents  of 
A  Day's  Sojourn  in  the  Cuban  Cap- 
ital,   

Cuba — The  Fortress  of  La  Cabana,  - 

Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands — 
Matanzas  by  the  Sea, 

Cuba — The  Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 
— The  Town  and  the  Bay  of  Mariel, 

Steamer  Mascot — Conclusion, 


Pack 


i8i 


i88 


198 


210 


220 
236 

247 

259 
270 


TABLE  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing  Page 

The  Six  Comrades  of  Camp  Flap-Jack,  1881,       -        -        -  3 

A  Vista  OF  Mexico  {Frontispiece), 15 

Log  Cabin  of  Kentucky  Mountaineer,        -        -        -        -  19 

Picking  Cotton,  Mississippi, 21 

Jackson  Statue, --28 

The  Cabildo, 30 

Hauling  Cotton,  New  Orleans, 32 

Along  the  Levee,  New  Orleans,      -----  34 

Ancient  French  Pavements, 39 

The  Alamo, 41 

Old  Spanish  Convent,   -        -        --        -        -        -        -42 

The  Desolate  Plains, 46 

Awaiting  our  Train, 49 

Mules  Carrying  Corn, 51 

A  Cargadore  Bearing  Vegetables,      -----  53 

Patio,  Hotel  Iturbide, 55 

A  Snap-shot  for  a'Centavo, 56 

Cargadores  Toting  Casks, 57 

My  Protectors  of  the  Market,           .        -        ...  58 

Errand  Boys  of  the  Market, 58 

A  Rancherro  Dude, 60 

The  Cathedral— Mexico  City, 62 

La  Casa  de  Azulejos — Now  Jockey  Club,    ...       -  64 

Pleased  with  My  Camera, -  67 

9 


Table  of  Illustrations 

Facing  Page 
Volcano  de  Popocatepetl,  -------    69 

A  Pulque  Peddler, 71 

A  Friend  of  My  Kodak, 72 

DuLCE  Vender, 73 

Volcano  de  Iztaccihuatl,  - 74 

Setting  a  Banderilla, 76 

Teasing  El  Toro, 78 

The  Gardens  of  Chapultepec, 81 

Manzanillo's  Fatal  Thrust, 83 

Juarez'  Tomb  and  Wreaths  of  Silver,  -        -        -  .      -         85 
The  Tree  Where  Cortez  Wept,  El  Noche  Triste,  -    87 

Lake  Patzcuaro, 90 

Our  Departure — Fonda  Diligencia, 92 

The  Dismantled  Convent,  Patzcuaro,  -        -        -        -         94 

Izus  AND  El  Padre, 96 

The  Highway  to  the  Pacific, 101 

Nearing  Ario, 103 

A  Milk  Ranch  near  Ario, 106 

The  Author — Plaza  Grande,  Ario, 108 

The  Distant  Cordillera, 113 

Begging  a  Centavo, 115 

The  Jefe  Politico  and  Soldiers, 117 

Transferring  the  Prisoner, 119 

Cooling  the  Horses — Rancho  Nuevo,      ...        -       121 

A  Wild  Fig-tree — La  Playa, 122 

Volcano  de  Jorullo,        -        -        -        -        -        -        -       124 

Rancho  San  Pedro, 126 

In  Flight  from  My  Kodak, 128 

The  Ancient  Stamp  Mill, 131 

Copper  Ore  Dumps— La  China  Mines,      -        -        -        -       133 

Moving  a  Mansion, 135 

lO 


Table  of  Illustrations 

Facing  Page 
Bringing  Out  the  Ore — La  China  Mines,        ...       137 

Washing  Copper  Ore, -  138 

An  Ancient  Dump  of  Copper  Ore,  ....       140 

The  Llanos — Hawk  Poised  upon  an  Organ  Cactus,    -        -  142 

The  Mighty  Cordillera, 147 

Vaqueros  Crossing  the  Rio  de  las  Balsas,  ...  151 

The  Landing,  Rio  de  las  Balsas, 154 

Arranging  a  Battle, 158 

The  Victor, 158 

A  Flock  of  Sheep  near  Ario,       -.-.-.  165 
A  Street  Scene — Patzcuaro,  .....       167 

A  Vista  in  Morelia, 170 

The  Cathedral  of  Morelia, 172 

A  Wild  Otome  in  Flight  from  My  Kodak,        ...  I8I 

A  Diligencia — ToLucA, 183 

A  Snap-shot  through  a  Doorway— Toluca,       ...  I86 

Suspicious  of  My  Camera, 188 

My  Cocha — Cuernavaca, 193 

Shrine  of  the  Virgin  of  Guadaloupe— Cuernavaca,        -       195 

The  Borda  Gardens — Cuernavaca, 197 

Aztec  Indians — Mexico  City, 199 

Volcano  de  Orizaba, 202 

The  Municipal  Palace — Vera  Cruz,       -        .        -        .       204 

The  Tame  Vultures  of  Vera  Cruz, 206 

A  Noble  Palm, 208 

A  Street  of  Vera  Cruz, 211 

The  Little  Boys  Leaving  Our  Ship,        ....       213 
Off  for  Progresso,        ........  215 

The  Haiwor  of  Havana, 218 

A  Spanish  Hotel— Havana, 220 

Callb  Obispo — Havana,    ^ 222 

II 


Table  of  Illustrations 

Facing  F&ge 

The  Cathedral— Havana, 227 

The  First  Greensward— Havana, 229 

Selling  Vegetables— Havana, 231 

A  Corner  of  the  Market — Havana,        ...        -       234 

The  Fortress  of  La  Cabana, 236 

The  Entrance  to  La  Cabana, 238 

Where  Patriots  were  Shot — La  Cabana,   -        -        -        -  243 

A  Spanish  Park — Matanzas, 247 

The  Wreck  of  the  Maine, 250 

A  Glimpse  of  Matanzas, 254 

Dressed  for  the  Day, 259 

Along  the  Military  Road — A  Ceiba  Tree,    -        -        -       263 

The  Bay  of  Mariel, 266 

Wreck  of  the  Alfonso  XH, 270 

Key    West    Light — The     Southern     Extremity    of    the 

United  States, 277 

Map  of  My  Journey, 283 


12 


ON  THE  MEXICAN  HIGHLANDS 


A  VISTA   OF   MEXICO 


Flying  Impressions  Between  Charleston- 
Kanawha  and  New  Orleans 

Nbw  Orleans,  Louisiana, 
t  G^'SL  I  November  15th, 

When  the  New  York  and  Cincinnati  Flyer 

(the  "F.  F.  V.  Limited")   came  into  Charleston 

yesterday,  it  was  an  hour  late  and  quite  a  crowd 

was  waiting  to  get  aboard.     Going  with  me  as  far 

as  Kenova  were  D,  H,  and  eight  or  ten  of  "the 

boys."     They  all   carried  Winchesters  and  were 

.      bound  on  a  trip  to  the  mountains  of  Mingo  and 

^     McDowell,   on   the   Kentucky  line,   to  capture  a 

V     moonshine  still  which  was  reported  to  be  doing  a 

ft    fine  business  selling  to  the  mines.     D  wanted  me 

to  go  along,  and  offered  me  a  rifle  or  a  shotgun, 

as  I  chose.     They  are  big  men,  all  of  them,  and 

love  a  scrap,  which  means  the  give  and  take  of 

death,   and  have  no  fear  except  of  ambush.     I 

still  carry  in  my  pocket  the  flat-nosed  bullet  D 

took  from  the  rifle  of  Johnse  Hatfield  two  years 

ago,  when  he  caught  him  lying-in-wait  behind  a 

rock  watching  for  Doc.  Ellis  to  come  forth  from 

15 


% 


Dn  the  Mexican  Highlands 

his  front  door.  Johnse  was  afterward  hanged  in 
Pikevllle  for  other  crimes.  Then,  a  few  months 
later,  his  brother  "Lias,"  just  to  get  even,  picked 
off  Doc.  Ellis  as  he  was  getting  out  of  a  Pullman 
car.  Now  "Lias"  is  said  to  be  looking  for  D, 
also,  but  D  says  he  's  as  handy  with  his  gun  as 
"Lias"  is,  if  only  he  can  get  a  fair  show.  D  is 
captain  of  this  raid  and  promises  to  bring  me 
tokens  of  a  successful  haul,  but  I  am  apprehensive 
that,  one  of  these  days,  he  or  some  other  of  "the 
boys"  will  not  come  back  to  Charleston. 

At  Ashland  my  Louisville  car  was  attached  to 
the  Lexington  train,  and  we  turned  to  the  left  up 
the  long  grade  and  soon  plunged  into  the  hill 
country  of  eastern  Kentucky,  Here  is  a  rough, 
harsh  land,  a  poor,  yellow  soil,  underlying  miles  of 
forest  from  which  the  big  timber  has  long  since 
been  felled.  Here  and  there  small  clearings  con- 
tain log  cabins,  shack  barns,  and  soil  which  must 
always  produce  crops  as  mean  as  the  men  who  till 
it.  We  were  traversing  the  land  of  the  vendettas. 
At  the  little  stations,  long,  lank,  angular  men  were 
gathered,  quite  frequently  with  a  rifle  or  a  Win- 
chester shotgun  in  their  bony  hands.  It  was  only 
two  or  three  years  ago  that  one  of  these  passenger 
trains  was  "held  up,"  by  a  rifle-armed  gang, 
who  found  the  man  they  "were  looking  for  crouch- 
ing in  the  end  of  the  smoker,  and  shot  him  to  death 

i6 


Flying  Impressions 

right  then  and  there — but  not  before  he  had  killed 
two  or  three  of  the  assassins. 

I  had  gone  forward  into  the  smoking  car,  for 
it  is  in  the  day  coaches  where  one  meets  the  people 
of  the  countryside  when  traveling.  I  had  seated 
myself  beside  a  tall,  white-haired  old  man  who 
was  silently  smoking  a  stogie,  such  as  is  made  by 
the  local  tobacco  growers  of  this  hill  country.  He 
had  about  him  the  air  of  a  man  of  importance. 
He  was  dressed  in  homespun  jeans  and  wore  the 
usual  slouch  felt  hat.  He  had  a  strong,  command- 
ing face,  with  broad,  square  chin  and  a  blue  eye 
which  bespoke  friendliness,  and  yet  hinted  of  in- 
exorable sternness.  I  gave  him  my  name  and  told 
him  where  I  lived,  and  whither  I  was  going,  intro- 
ducing myself  as  one  always  must  when  talking 
to  these  mountain  people.  He  was  a  republican, 
like  myself,  he  said,  and  had  several  times  been 
sheriff  of  his  county;  but  that  was  many  years  ago 
and  he  declared  himself  to  be  now  "a  man  of 
peace."  We  talked  of  the  vendettas  and  he  told 
me  of  a  number  of  these  tragedies.  When  I  made 
bold  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  ever  had  any 
"trouble"  himself,  he  replied,  "No,  not  for  right 
smart  o'  yearn ;"  and  then  he  slowly  drew  from  his 
trousers  pocket,  a  little  buckskin  bag,  and  unwound 
the  leathern  thong  with  which  it  was  fast  tied. 
Having  opened  it  he  took  out  three  misshapen 
2  17 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

pieces  of  lead  and  handed  them  to  me,  remarking, 
"  'T  was  many  yearn  ago  I  cut  them  thar  pieces 
of  lead,  and  four  more  of  the  same  kind,  from  this 
h'yar  leg  of  mine,"  slapping  his  hand  upon  his 
right  thigh.  "But  where  are  the  other  four?"  I 
queried.  For  an  instant  the  blue  eyes  dilated  and 
glittered  as  he  replied,  "I  melted  'em  up  into  bul- 
lets agen,  and  sent  'em  back  whar  they  cum  from." 
"Did  you  kill  him?"  I  asked.  The  square  jaws 
broadened  grimly,  and  he  said,  "Wall,  I  do  n't  say 
I  killed  him,  but  he  ain't  been  seen  aboot  thar 
sence."  I  offered  him  one  of  my  best  cigars,  and 
turned  to  the  subject  of  the  horses  of  Kentucky. 
He  was  going  to  Lexington,  he  said,  to  attend  the 
horse  sales  the  coming  week  and  he  begged  me  to 
"light  off  with  him,"  for  he  was  sure  I  would  there 
"find  a  beast"  I  would  delight  to  own.  I  prom- 
sied  to  visit  him  some  day  when  I  should  return, 
and  he  has  vouched  to  receive  me  with  all  the  hos- 
pitality for  which  Kentucky  mountaineers,  as  well 
as  blue  grass  gentlemen,  are  famed. 

When  we  had  come  quite  through  the  hill 
region,  we  rolled  out  into  a  country  with  better 
soil,  and  land  more  generally  cleared,  and  much 
in  grass.  It  was  the  renowned  blue  grass  section 
of  Kentucky,  and  at  dark  we  were  in  Lexington. 
Twinkling  lights  w^ere  all  that  I  could  see  of  the 
noted  town.    The  people  who  were  about  the  sta- 

i8 


LOG  CABIN  OF  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINEER 


Flying  Impressions 

tion  platform  were  well  dressed  and  looked  well 
fed,  and  a  number  of  big  men  climbed  aboard. 

We  arrived  at  Louisville  half  an  hour  late. 
This  was  fortunate,  for  we  had  to  wait  only  an 
hour  for  the  train  to  Memphis,  via  Paducah.  Two 
ladies,  who  sat  behind  me  when  I  entered  the  car 
at  Charleston,  stood  beside  me  when  I  secured  my 
ticket  in  the  Memphis  sleeper  and  took  the  section 
next  to  mine.  It  had  been  my  intention  to  change 
trains  at  Memphis,  take  the  Yazoo  Valley  Railway 
and  go  via  Vicksburg,  thinking  that  I  might  see 
something  of  the  Mississippi  River;  but  in  the 
morning  I  met  a  young  engineer  of  the  Illinois 
Central  Railroad,  who  told  me  that  this  route  had 
a  very  bad  track,  the  cars  were  poor,  the  trains 
slow,  while  the  line  itself  lay  ten  or  twelve  miles 
back  from  the  river  so  that  I  should  never  see  it; 
therefore,  I  decided  to  stick  to  the  through  fast 
train  on  which  I  had  started,  and  go  on  to  New 
Orleans  by  the  direct  route  down  through  central 
Mississippi. 

When  I  awoke  we  were  speeding  southward 
through  the  wide,  flat  country  of  western  Tennes- 
see. We  passed  through  acres  of  cornstalks  from 
which  the  roughness  (the  leaves  of  the  corn)  and 
ears  had  been  plucked,  through  broad  reaches  of 
tobacco  stumps,  and  here  and  there  rolled  by  a 
field  white  with  cotton. 

19 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

In  the  toilet  room  of  the  sleeper  I  found  my- 
self alone  with  a  huge,  black-bearded,  curly-headed 
planter,  who  was  alternately  taking  nips  from  a 
gigantic  silver  flask  and  ferociously  denouncing  the 
Governor  of  Indiana  for  refusing  to  surrender  Ex- 
governor  Taylor  to  the  myrmidons  of  Kentucky 
law,  to  be  there  tried  by  a  packed  jury  for  the 
assassination  of  Governor  Goebel.  I  finally  felt 
unable  to  keep  silent  longer,  and  told  him  that  I 
did  not  see  the  justice  of  his  position,  and  reminded 
him  that  the  Governors  of  the  neighboring  States 
of  West  Virginia,  Ohio  and  Illinois  had  pubhcly 
expressed  their  approval  of  the  Governor  of  In- 
diana, and  their  disapprov^al  of  the  political  meth- 
ods then  prevailing  in  Kentucky.  He  looked  stead- 
ily at  me  with  an  air  of  some  surprise,  then  stretch- 
ing out  his  flask  begged  me  to  take  a  drink  with 
him.  He  thereafter  said  no  more  on  politics,  but 
talked  for  half  an  hour  of  the  tobacco  and  cotton 
crops  of  western  Tennessee. 

We  arrived  in  Memphis  at  about  ten  o'clock 
of  the  morning  and  stopped  there  some  time.  In 
the  big  and  dirty  railway  station  I  felt  myself  al- 
ready in  a  country  other  than  West  Virginia. 

Memphis,  the  little  I  saw  of  it,  appeared  to  be 
a  straggling,  shabby  town,  with  wide,  dusty  streets, 
and  many  rambling  dilapidated  buildings.  The 
people  had  lost  the  rosy,  hearty  look  of  the  blue 

20 


PICKING    COTTON  — MISSISSIPPI 


Flying  Impressions 

grass  country,  and  were  pale  and  sallow,  while 
increasingly  numerous  everywhere  were  the  ebony- 
hued  negroes.  We  were  passing  from  the  latitude 
of  the  mulattoes  to  that  of  the  jet-blacks,  the  pure 
blooded  Africans. 

Leaving  Memphis,  we  turned  southeastward 
and  then  due  south,  through  the  central  portions 
of  the  state  of  Mississippi.  Here  spreads  a  flat 
country,  with  thin,  yellow  soil  In  corn  and  cotton. 
Everywhere  were  multitudes  of  negroes,  all  black  as 
night.  Negro  women  and  children  were  picking 
cotton  In  the  fields.  There  were  wide  stretches  of 
apparently  abandoned  land,  once  under  cultivation, 
much  of  It  now  growing  up  In  underbrush  and 
much  of  It  white  with  ripened  seedling  cotton.  In 
many  places  the  blacks  were  gathering  this  cotton, 
apparently  for  themselves.  There  were  a  few 
small  towns,  at  long  intervals.  Everywhere  bales 
of  cotton  were  piled  on  the  railway  station  plat- 
forms; generally  the  big,  old-fashioned  bales,  occa- 
sionally the  small  bale  made  by  the  modern  com- 
press. This  is  the  shipping  season,  and  we  fre- 
quently passed  teams  of  four  and  six  mules,  haul- 
ing large  wagons  piled  high  with  cotton  bales 
coming  toward  the  railway  stations.  We  passed 
through  great  forests  of  the  long-leaved  yellow 
pine,  interspersed  with  much  cottonwood  and  mag- 
nolia, while  the  leaves  of  the  sumach  marked  with 

21 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

vivid  red  the  divisions  of  the  clearings  and  the 
fields.  The  day  was  dull  and  cloudy  and  a  chill 
lingered  in  the  air.  The  two  lady  travelers  sat  all 
day  long  with  their  curtains  down  and  never  left 
their  books.  The  scenery  and  life  of  Mississippi 
held  no  interest  for  them. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  passed  through  Mis- 
sissippi's capital,  Jackson,  and  could  see  in  the  dis- 
tance the  rising  walls  of  the  new  statehouse,  to  be 
a  white  stone  building  of  some  pretentions.  Here 
a  number  of  Italians  and  Jews,  well  dressed  and 
evidently  well-to-do,  entered  our  sleeper  en  route 
to  New  Orleans.  The  country  trade  of  Missis- 
sippi is  said  to  be  now  almost  altogether  in  the 
hands  of  Jews  and  of  Italians.  The  latter  coming 
up  from  New  Orleans,  are  acquiring  many  of  fhe 
plantations  in  both  Mississippi  and  Louisiana,  as 
well  as,  in  many  cases,  pushing  out  the  blacks  from 
the  work  on  the  plantations  by  reason  of  their  su- 
perior intelligence,  industry  and  thrift.  A  lull  in 
Italian  immigration  followed  the  New  Orleans 
massacre  of  the  Mafia  plotters  some  years  ago,  but 
that  tragedy  is  now  quite  forgotten,  and  a  steady 
influx  of  Italians  of  a  better  type  has  set  in. 

In  the  dining  car,  I  sat  at  midday  lunch  with 
a  round-faced,  pleasant  mannered  man  some  forty 
years  of  age,  with  whom  I  fell  into  table  chat. 
He  was  a  writer  on  the  staff  of  a  western  monthly 

22 


Flying  Impressions 

magazine  and  was  well  acquainted  with  the  country 
we  were  traversing.  He  pointed  out  places  of 
local  Interest  as  we  hurried  southward,  while  many 
incidents  of  history  were  awakened  In  my  own 
mind.  All  of  this  land  of  swamp  and  bayou  and 
cotton  field  had  been  marched  and  fought  over  by 
the  contending  armies  during  the  Civil  War.  Here 
Grant  skirmished  with  Johnston  and  won  his  first 
great  triumphs  of  strategy  in  the  capture  of  Vicks- 
burg.  Here  the  cotton  planters  in  "ye  olden  time" 
lived  like  lords  and  applauded  their  senators  in 
Congress  for  declaring  in  public  speech  that  "Mis- 
sissippi and  Louisiana  wanted  no  public  roads." 
Here  Spain  and  France  contended  for  supremacy 
and  finally  yielded  to  the  Irresistible  advance  of 
the  English-speaking  American  pioneer,  pressing 
southwestward  from  Georgia,  Carolina  and  Ten- 
nessee. 

It  was  still  the  same  flat  country  when,  near 
dusk,  we  entered  Louisiana.  At  the  first  station 
where  we  stopped  an  old  man  was  offering  for  sale 
jugs  of  "new  molasses"  and  sticks  of  sugar  cane — 
the  first  hint  that  we  were  surely  below  the  latitude 
of  the  frosts. 

It  was  a  murky  night,  no  stars  were  out,  only 
a  Hash  of  distant  electric  lights  told  us  that  we 
were  approaching  New  Orleans.  We  were  in  the 
city  before  I  was  aware.     Quickly  passing  many 

23 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

unlighted  streets,  we  were  suddenly  among  dimly 
lighted  houses,  and  then  drew  into  an  old-time  de- 
pot, a  wooden  building  yet  more  dilapidated  than 
that  of  Memphis.  We  were  instantly  surrounded 
by  a  swarm  of  negroes.  There  were  acres  of  them 
with  scarcely  a  white  face  to  be  seen.  I  made  out 
one  of  the  swarthy  blacks  to  be  the  porter  of  the 
new  St.  Charles  Hotel.  Giving  him  my  bags,  I 
was  piloted  to  an  old-fashioned  'bus  and  was  soon 
driving  over  well  asphalted  streets  amidst  electric 
lights,  and  found  myself  in  the  thoroughfares  of 
a  really  great  city.  From  broad  Canal  Street  we 
turned  down  a  narrow  alley  and  drew  up  in  front 
of  a  fine  modern  hotel.  This  is  an  edifice  of  iron, 
stone  and  tile,  with  seemingly  no  wood  in  its  struc- 
ture, large,  spacious  and  filled  w4th  guests,  the 
chief  hostelry  of  New  Orleans,  and  worthy  of  the 
modern  conditions  now  prevailing  in  this  Spanish- 
French-American  metropolis  of  the  Gulf  States. 


24 


II 

The  Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

New  Orleans,  Louisiana, 

November  16th. 

After  a  well-served  dinner  in  the  spacious 
dining-room  of  the  hotel,  where  palms  and  orange 
trees  yellow  with  ripened  fruit  and  exhaling  the 
fragrance  of  living  growth  were  set  about  in  great 
pots,  I  lighted  my  cigar  and  strolled  out  upon 
narrow  St.  Charles  street.  Following  the  tide  of 
travel  I  soon  found  myself  upon  that  chief  artery 
of  the  city's  life, — boulevard,  avenue  and  business 
thoroughfare  all  in  one — stately  Canal  street.  It 
was  crowded  with  a  slowly  moving  multitude, 
which  flowed  and  ebbed  and  eddied,  enjoying  the 
soft  warm  air  beneath  the  electric  lights  and  stars. 
I  quickly  became  a  part  of  it,  taking  pleasure  in 
its  leisurely  sauntering  company. 

The  typical  countenance  about  me  was  of  the 
dark,  swarthy  Latin  south,  and  tall  men  were 
rarely  met.  Among  the  gossiping,  good  natured 
promenaders  of  Canal  street  there  is  none  of  the 
haste  which  marks  New  York's  lively  "Rialto;" 

25 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

none  of  the  scurry  and  jam  which  jostles  you  m 
brusque  Chicago.  In  New  Orleans  there  is  an  air 
of  contented  ease  in  the  movement  of  the  most 
poorly  clad.  Even  the  beggars  lack  the  energy  to 
be  Importunate. 

At  a  later  hour,  crossing  the  wide  thorough- 
fare, I  was  at  once  among  narrow  streets,  the  rues 
of  the  Vieux  Carre,  the  Quartier  Francais, — the 
Qimrtier  now,  but  once  all  that  there  was  of  New 
Orleans.  The  transition  was  sharp.  The  build- 
ings hinted  of  Quebec  and  Montreal,  and  of  Old 
France.  Balconies  clung  to  second  stories,  high 
adoby  and  stucco  walls  were  entered  by  narrow, 
close-barred  doorways,  latticed  windows  looked 
down  upon  the  passer-by,  and  now  and  then,  I 
fancied  behind  their  jalousies  the  flash  of  dark 
eyes.  My  ear,  too,  caught  softly  sonorous  accents 
which  are  foreign  to  the  harsher  palatals  and  sibi- 
lants of  English.  Beneath  a  glaring  electric  arc 
two  swarthy  pickaninnies  were  pitching  coppers 
and  eagerly  ejaculating  in  curious,  soft  French. 
A  man  and  a  woman  were  chaffering  at  a  corner 
meat  shop,  seller  and  buyer  both  vociferating  in  an 
unfamiliar  tongue.  I  was  hearing,  for  the  first 
time,  the  Creole  patois  of  old  New  Orleans. 

Along  one  narrow  rue — all  streets  are  rues  and 
all   rues    are    narrow    here — were   many   brilliant 

lights.     It  was  the  rue where  cafes  and  wine 

26 


Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

shops  and  quiet  restaurants  abound.  When  last  in 
New  York  M  B,  had  posted  me  and  said,  "If 
ever   you   shall   be   in   New   Orleans,    go   to   the 

Cafe  .     Go  there  and  if  you  care  to  taste  a 

pompano  before  you  die,  a  pompano  cooked  as 
only  one  mortal  on  this  earth  can  do  the  job,  go 
there  and  whisper  to  the  chef  that  'I  'm  your 
friend.'  "  So  I  went  and  found  the  chef  and  ever 
since  have  dreamed  about  that  fish.  The  room 
was  large;  its  floor  was  sanded  and  scrupulously 
clean.  Many  little  tables  were  set  along  the  walls. 
Pangs  of  hunger  griped  me  the  instant  I  peered 
within  that  door.  I  grew  hungrier  as  I  sat  and 
watched  the  zest  and  relish  with  which  those  about 
me  stowed  away  each  dainty  fragment.  I  was 
ready  for  that  pompano  when  at  last  it  came.  I 
have  eaten  this  fish  in  New  York,  in  Baltimore, 
in  Washington  and  in  Richmond,  and  ever  as  I 
came  further  south  did  the  delicacy  of  its  flesh  and 
flavor  grow.  Now,  the  long  leap  to  New  Orleans 
has  given  me  this  gourmet's  joy  fresh  taken  from 
the  waters  of  the  Gulf.  I  ate  with  slow  and  leis- 
urely delight,  letting  my  enamored  palate  revel 
in  the  symphony  of  flavor,  sipping  my  claret,  and 
watching  the  strange  company  which  filled  the 
room.  The  men  were  mostly  in  evening  dress — 
lawyers,  bankers  and  business  men.  They  had 
come  in  from  the  theatre  or,  perhaps,  had  spent 

27 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  evening  over  cards.  At  some  of  the  tables 
were  only  men,  at  others  ladies  were  present, 
young,  comely  and,  many  of  them,  elegantly 
gowned.  Black  eyes  were  dominant  among  these 
belles,  and  here  and  there  I  fancied  that  I  caught 
the  echo,  in  some  of  their  complexions,  of  that 
warmer  splendor  of  the  tropics  which  just  a  dash 
of  African  blood  when  mixed  with  white,  so  often 
gives,  and  which  has  made  the  octoroon  demoiselles 
of  New  Orleans  famous  for  brilliant  beauty  the 
world  around.  It  was  a  gay  company,  full  of  chat 
and  laughter  and  gracious  manner — the  gracious- 
ness  of  well-bred  Latin  blood. 

When,  at  last,  my  pompano  was  vanished,  and 
the  claret  gone,  and  I  regretfully  quitted  the  shel- 
ter of  La  It  was  long  past  the  stroke   of 

twelve,  yet  the  cafe  was  still  crowded  and  the 
Vieux  Carre  was  alight  and  astir  as  though  it  were 
early  In  the  night.  Again  crossing  Canal  street, 
I  found  the  American  city  dark  and  silent.  I  hur- 
riedly went  my  way  to  the  hotel,  my  footsteps  echo- 
ing with  that  strange,  reverberating  hollowness 
which  marks  the  tread  upon  the  deserted,  midnight 
city  street. 

In  the  morning  I  was  up  betimes,  taking  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  a  roll,  and  then  making  my  way 
down  St.  Charles  street  and  crossing  Canal  to  the 
rue  Royale,   passing  the  open   gates  of  the  old 

28 


JACKSON   STATUE— NEW  ORLEANS 


Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

convent  garden  of  the  Ursulines,  now  the  Arch- 
bishop's palace,  and  turning  into  the  rue  St. 
Petre,  then  into  Jackson  Square.  The  air  was 
cool.  The  world  had  not  quite  waked  up.  The 
gardeners  with  their  water  carts  were  giving  the 
morning  bath  to  the  lawns  and  flowers  of  the  park. 
A  friendly  mannered  policeman  had  just  disturbed 
two  tramps  from  their  nightly  slumber,  bidding 
them  move  on.  I  sat  down  upon  a  stone  bench 
near  where  they  had  slept  and  looked  across  at  the 
old  Spanish-French  Cathedral  of  St.  Louis  and 
the  municipal  buildings  of  the  courts,  the  Cabildo 
and  Hotel  de  Ville — architectural  monuments  of 
an  already  shadowy  past.  The  chimes  were  ring- 
ing to  matins  and  the  devout  were  entering  to  the 
early  mass. 

I  watched  the  hurrying  groups,  musing  the 
while  upon  the  picture  before  me.  Here,  the  Ca- 
nadian de  Bienville,  and  Cadillac  and  Aubry  and 
their  French  compeers,  as  well  as  the  Spanish  Cap- 
tains General,  from  Don  Juan  de  Ulloa  to  Don 
Manuel  Salcedo  had  offered  up  their  thanks  for 
safe  arrival  from  dangerous  voyages  across  un- 
charted seas.  Here,  Don  Antonio  O'Rielly,  Ha- 
vana's murderous  Irish  Governor,  had  ordered  his 
Spanish  musketeers  to  shoot  to  death  the  Creole 
patriots,  Lafrenlere,  Milhet,  Noyant,  Marquis, 
Caresse,  that  devoted  band  who  refused  to  believe 

29 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

that  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Cholseul  and  his  Majesty, 
Louis  XV,  le  bien  aime — had  secretly  made  cold- 
blooded sale  of  the  fair  Province  of  Louisiana  to 
Spain.  Here,  Citizen  Laussat,  by  order  of  Na- 
poleon, had  surrendered  the  great  Louisiana  Prov- 
ince to  General  Wilkinson  and  Governor  Clai- 
borne, the  Commissioners  of  Thomas  Jefferson, 
who  thereby  added  an  empire  to  the  dominion  of 
the  young  government  of  the  United  States.  Here, 
also,  had  been  celebrated  with  so  much  pomp  and 
trumpet  fanfare  the  victory  of  Andrew  Jackson's 
border  riflemen  over  Pakenham's  Peninsular  vet- 
erans. The  historic  Place  d'Armes  has  been  re- 
christened  Jackson  Square,  and  "Old  Hickory" 
now  rides  his  big  horse  in  the  midst  of  a  lovely 
municipal  garden.  In  later  years,  here  also  had 
Confederate  Mayor  and  Federal  General  posted 
their  decrees  and  proclamations,  among  the  latter 
that  famous  "General  Order  No.  28,"  wherein 
the  doughty  General  presumed  to  teach  good  man- 
ners to  the  dames  and  demoiselles  of  New  Orleans, 
and  gained  thereby  the  sobriquet  "Beast  Butler." 
The  worshipers  were  returning  from  the  mass. 
My  reverie  was  at  an  end.  I  arose  and,  crossing 
the  square,  strolled  over  to  Decatur  Place  toward 
the  old  French  market  by  the  river  side.  There 
I  found  much  that  reminded  me  of  the  greater 
Marche  Central  which   I   had  visited  one   early 

30 


THE  CABILDO— NEW  ORLEANS 


Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

morning  In  Paris.  There  were  the  same  daintiness 
and  care  in  arranging  and  displaying  the  vege- 
tables, the  same  taste  and  skill  in  showing  the 
flowers,  which  are  everywhere  the  glory  of  New 
Orleans.  There  were  bushels  of  roses — the  Mare- 
chal  Neil,  the  gorgeous  Cloth  of  Gold  among  the 
more  splendid.  Here  also  the  butchers  were  carry- 
ing the  meats  upon  their  heads,  just  as  they  did  in 
France,  and  the  fish  and  game  were  as  temptingly 
displayed.  But  the  people  of  the  market,  though 
speaking  the  French  tongue,  were  widely  different. 
The  swarthy  tints  of  the  tropics  were  here  in  evi- 
dence. Negresses  black  as  night  made  me  bon- 
joiirf  The  venders  and  porters  were  ebony  or 
mulatto,  and  even  the  buyers  were  largely  tinctured 
with  African  blood,  while  the  French  they  talked 
was  a  speech  I  could  with  difficulty  comprehend. 
The  sharp  nasal  twang  of  Paris  was  greatly  soft- 
ened, and  their  "u"  had  lost  that  certain  difficult 
liquidity  which  English  and  American  mouths  find 
it  almost  impossible  to  attain.  Curious  two- 
wheeled  carts  loaded  with  brass  milk  cans  were 
starting  on  their  morning  rounds,  and  lesser  two- 
wheeled  wagons  were  being  loaded  with  vege- 
tables, meats  and  fish  for  the  day's  peddling 
throughout  the  city.  Burdens  were  not  so  gener- 
ally borne  upon  the  backs  and  shoulders  as  in 
France,  although  some  of  the  women  and  a  few 

31 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

men  were  carrying  their  wares  and  goods  upon  the 
head  with  easy  balance. 

The  Vieux  Carre  has  in  it  to  me  a  certain  note 
of  sadness.  As  you  wander  along  its  rues  and 
ways  you  feel  that,  somehow  or  other,  the  days  of 
its  importance  and  its  power  are  forever  gone. 
Mansions,  once  the  imposing  homes  of  the  affluent, 
are  now  cracked  and  marred,  and  there  seem  to 
be  none  to  put  them  into  good  repair.  Dilapida- 
tion broods  over  the  Vieux  Carre.  You  feel  that 
the  good  old  Creole  days  are  surely  fled.  You 
realize  that  as  the  language  of  La  Belle  France 
is  disappearing,  so  the  leisurely  customs  and  easy 
habits  of  French  New  Orleans,  before  many  years, 
will  be  submerged  by  the  direct  speech  and  com- 
mercial brusqueness  of  modern  America. 

In  the  afternoon  I  rode  many  miles  upon  the 
trolley  cars  through  and  about  the  city,  and  par- 
ticularly along  by  the  levees  and  through  the  fine 
avenue  St.  Charles,  and  the  upper  modern  section. 
Low,  very  low,  lies  New  Orleans,  the  greater  part 
of  it  only  a  few  feet  above  the  water,  really  below 
the  level  of  the  Mississippi  in  times  of  flood. 
Many  streets  are  now  asphalted  and  kept  compara- 
tively clean,  but  the  greater  portion  of  the  city 
is  yet  unpaved,  or,  when  there  is  pavement  at  all, 
is  still  laid  with  the  huge  French  blocks  of  granite 
(a  foot  or  eighteen  inches  square)  put  down  two 

32 


HAULING   COTTON— NEW   ORLEANS 


Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

centuries  ago.  The  city  lies  too  close  to  perpetual 
dead  water  to  permit  of  modern  drainage  and 
there  are  few  or  no  underground  sewers.  The 
houses  drain  into  deep,  open  gutters  along  the 
streets  between  the  sidewalks  and  the  thorough- 
fares over  which  you  must  step;  fresh  water  Is 
pumped  into  these  gutters  and,  combining  with  the 
inflowing  sewerage,  is  pumped  out  again  Into  the 
Mississippi.  It  Is  In  this  crude  and  unsanitary 
manner  that  New  Orleans  strives  to  keep  meas- 
urably clean. 

The  residence  section,  In  the  American  city, 
contains  many  handsome  mansions  with  wide  lawns 
and  a  profusion  of  semitropical  trees,  and  every- 
where are  gardens — flower  gardens  that  are  riot- 
ous masses  of  roses  and  jasmines  and  splendid 
blooms.  Just  as  the  glory  of  England  Is  her 
flowers,  where  no  home  Is  too  humble  for  a  window 
box,  so,  too.  Is  It  in  New  Orleans.  However  dirty 
she  may  be,  however  slovenly  and  slipshod,  you 
must  yet  love  the  city  for  her  flowers.  Even  the 
laborer's  most  humble  cottage  glows  with  Its  mass 
of  color. 

New  Orleans  has  no  parks  to  boast  of — Audu- 
bon Park  Is  a  mere  ribbon  of  green — but  the  ceme- 
teries on  her  borders  are  really  her  parks.  The 
live  oaks  in  them  hang  with  masses  of  drooping 
moss,  and  blossoming  magnolias  and  shrubs  are 

3  33 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

everywhere.  So  near  is  the  water  to  the  surface, 
however,  that  there  can  be  no  burials  within  the 
earth,  and  the  cemeteries  are  therefore  filled  with 
tombs  built  above  the  ground.  Many  of  these  are 
costly  works  of  art. 

The  city  clings  to  the  river  where  the  Missis- 
sippi makes  a  great  bend,  like  a  half  moon,  to  the 
southwest,  whence  its  name,  the  "Crescent  City." 
Only  the  big  embankments,  fourteen  to  fifteen  feet 
in  height,  prevent  the  homes  and  gardens,  as  well 
as  the  entire  business  portion  of  the  city,  from 
being  sometimes  submerged  by  the  angry  waters 
of  the  great  river.  I  found  it  strange,  from  a 
steamer's  deck,  lying  at  the  levee,  to  be  looking 
down  into  the  city,  ten  or  twenty  feet  below.  It 
reminded  me  of  Holland  and  of  Rotterdam,  except 
that  there  the  waters  are  the  dead  and  quiet  pools 
of  Dutch  canals,  while  here  they  are  the  swelling 
restless  tide  of  the  more  than  mile-wide  Missis- 
sippi. 

Along  the  levees  were  many  ocean  liners  load- 
ing with  molasses,  sugar  and  cotton,  chiefly  cotton, 
in  which  there  is  an  enormous  and  constantly  in- 
creasing trade.  The  biggest  ships  now  come  up 
right  alongside  the  wooden  wharves  of  the  levees, 
and  for  several  miles  lie  there  bow  to  stern. 

The  theatres  and  business  blocks,  the  custom- 
house, and  city  hall  and  other  public  buildings  of 

34 


Life  and  Color  of  New  Orleans 

New  Orleans  are  none  of  them  modern,  but  appear 
to  have  been  built  long  years  ago,  yet,  notwith- 
standing their  marks  of  antiquity,  the  business  part 
of  the  city  Is  animate  with  stir  and  action.  There 
Is  hope  in  men's  faces  In  New  Orleans,  and  the 
younger  men  are  finding  in  the  city's  waxing  com- 
merce opportunity  for  achievement  which  their 
forefathers  never  knew.  With  the  completion  of 
the  Panama  Canal,  New  Orleans  will  become  one 
of  the  greatest  of  commercial  ports. 

From  New  Orleans  I  shall  go  via  the  Southern 
Pacific  Railway,  crossing  the  Mississippi  and  trav- 
eling westward  through  Louisiana  and  Texas  to 
San  Antonio,  Texas,  and  then  I  shall  go  south 
Into  Mexico. 


35 


Ill 

Southwestward  to  the  Border 

(Written  on  the  train  and  mailed  at  Laredo,  Texas.) 

No'vember  16th. 

The  journey  from  New  Orleans  was  some- 
what tedious,  but  yet  so  crowded  with  new  sights 
that  the  time  passed  quite  too  quickly  for  me  even 
to  glance  at  the  copy  of  Lew  Wallace's  Fair  God, 
which  I  had  bought  in  New  Orleans  for  reading 
on  the  way. 

At  9  :45  A.  M.  I  left  the  Hotel  St.  Charles 
and  took  the  'bus  for  the  Southern  Pacific  Station, 
which  Is  a  shabby,  weatherworn  wooden  building 
down  by  the  water  side,  in  the  French  quarter  of 
the  city.  A  large,  ill-kept  waiting  room  was 
crowded  with  emigrants — chiefly  "crackers"  and 
"po'  white  trash"  from  the  cotton  states.  A  wide 
gangway  led  to  the  clumsy  puffing  ferryboat  which 
took  us  across  the  Mississippi  to  a  series  of  long, 
low,  wooden  sheds  where  our  transcontinental  train 
awaited  us. 

The  ferry  crosses  the  Mississippi  from  near  the 

36 


Southwestward  to  the  Border 

center  of  the  bow,  where  the  river  sweeps  in  a 
giant  curve  against  the  crescent  shore.  The  cur- 
rent is  swift,  and  whether  the  waters  be  high  or 
low,  the  river  always  hurries  on  with  relentless 
eagerness  toward  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  one  hundred 
miles  away. 

As  I  stood  upon  the  boat  and  my  eye  swept 
up  and  down  the  river,  the  city  stretched  before 
me  black  and  sombre  beneath  a  heavy  pall  of 
smoke,  flat  and  uninteresting,  only  here  and  there 
a  spire  or  steeple  lifting  itself  solitarily  above  the 
level  monotony.  But  along  the  miles  of  levees 
there  was  activity  and  life.  Ocean  steamers  were 
taking  on^  cargo,  and  multitudes  of  river  steam- 
boats were  discharging  freights  of  cotton  bales  and 
other  upstream  products,  brought  from  the  coal 
mines  and  wheat  fields  and  plantations  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, West  Virginia,  and  Ohio,  Indiana  and  Illi- 
nois, Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  of  Wisconsin  and 
Minnesota  and  Iowa,  even  from  the  Dakotas  and 
Nebraska  and  Kansas,  and  from  Missouri  and 
Arkansas  and  Mississippi  and  Louisiana,  for  here 
converges  the  vast  interior  water-traffic  of  the  con- 
tinent. (The  enormous  traffic  of  the  Great  Lakes 
is  now  urging  Congress  to  give  them  ship  canals 
and  unimpeded  access  to  New  Orleans.) 

It  is  a  prodigious  traffic  that  steadily  increases 
notwithstanding  the  competition  of  the  railways 

37 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

which  are  now  penetrating  everywhere,  even  into 
the  rich  plantation  country.  For  some  years  after 
the  Civil  War,  New  Orleans  seemed  to  be  losing 
her  one-time  pre-eminence  as  a  port.  The  railways 
to  the  north  threatened  to  cut  off  her  trade  from 
above,  the  silting  up  of  the  Mississippi's  mouths 
threatened  to  destroy  her  access  to  the  sea.  Then 
came  the  strong,  wise  hand  of  Uncle  Sam,  who 
built  the  magnificent  jetty  system  contrived  by 
Captain  Eads,  and  New  Orleans  began  to  wake 
up.  Her  trade  increased  by  leaps  and  bounds, 
the  river  traffic  revived,  and  she  became  the  mis- 
tress of  a  water  commerce  far  exceeding  what  she 
had  known  before.  Now  not  merely  are  her  sub- 
urbs extending  along  the  river,  but  her  trade  and 
commerce  have  crossed  to  the  western  shore,  where 
a  new  and  supplemental  city  is  rapidly  growing  up. 
There,  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway  and  other 
western  lines  have  erected  their  shops  and  fac- 
tories, laid  out  extensive  yards  and  built  great 
warehouses.  There  they  unload  and  store  the 
freight  which  Louisiana,  Texas  and  the  farther 
West  send  eastward  for  distribution  to  the  eastern 
railway  connections  which  carry  it  to  the  Gulf  and 
Atlantic  seaboard  ports  for  export,  and  for  deliv- 
ery to  domestic  consumption  by  inland  water  car- 
riage. 

We  were  to  take  the  through  San  Francisco 

38 


ANCIENT  FRENCH   PAVEMENTS 


Southwestward  to  the  Border 

Express,  and  I  had  anticipated  a  fine  transconti- 
nental train,  something  like  our  own  "F.  F.  V." 
which  takes  us  from  Kanawha  to  Cincinnati,  or 
New  York.  But  I  was  disappointed.  The  "Sun- 
set Limited,"  as  It  Is  called,  consisted  of  two 
sleepers,  hitched  behind  a  number  of  shabby  im- 
migrant cars  and  old-fashioned  passenger  day 
coaches.  None  of  these  were  vestlbuled,  and  there 
was  no  dining  car  attached.  I  had  secured,  fortu- 
nately, several  days  In  advance,  a  lower  berth  as 
far  as  San  Antonio;  but  many  passengers  applied 
who  could  obtain  no  berths,  and  were  allowed  to 
crowd  into  the  sleepers  for  lack  of  accommoda- 
tion In  the  day  coaches,  Into  which  the  swarming 
immigrants  had  overflowed. 

We  were  late  In  starting;  we  were  late  at 
every  station  along  the  road ;  we  were  an  hour  late 
when  we  arrived  next  morning  at  San  Antonio;  a 
poor  beginning,  surely,  for  a  train  that  must  jour- 
ney four  long  days  and  nights  to  the  Pacific  coast. 

We  traversed  a  flat  land,  with  many  ditches 
and  canals  and  pools  of  stagnant  water  lying  a  few 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  surface.  The  soil  was 
black  and  rich.  We  crossed  acres  and  acres,  thou- 
sands of  acres,  of  sugar-cane,  and  we  saw  many 
large  mills,  all  using  modern  machinery  for  grind- 
ing cane  and  making  sugar.  Then  there  were 
fewer  ditches,  fewer  canals,  the  land  was  higher, 

39 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

slightly,  and  there  were  miles  of  cotton  fields,  the 
cotton  yet  in  the  boll,  ripe  for  the  picking.  Then 
it  was  a  land  with  many  little  ditches,  and  little 
dykes;  there  were  rice  fields  to  be  flooded;  and 
there  were  rice  mills, — representing  a  large  and 
rapidly  increasing  Interest.  Every  extent  of  forest 
we  passed  hung  heavy  with  gray  moss  and  para- 
sitic vines.  There  were  many  live  oaks  and  pal- 
mettoes  and  some  cypress.  The  land  was  still 
gradually  rising,  finally  becoming  drier,  grass- 
covered  and  grazed  by  herds  of  cattle  and  horses; 
but  it  was  flat,  always  flat. 

Toward  dusk  we  passed  through  Beaumont, 
the  famous  oil  town.  This  Is  the  fateful  place 
where  millions  of  dollars  have  been  made  and 
lost  within  a  few  months.  Ten  years  ago  a  group 
of  our  own  Kanawha  tenderfeet  drilled  here  a 
four-hundred-foot  dry  hole,  and  abandoned  the 
project,  finding  no  oil  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  spot  where,  a  few  years  later,  Dan  Lucas 
drilled  down  eight  hundred  feet,  and  struck  his 
seventy-thousand-barrel  gusher.  There  was  an  ex- 
cited "boom"  throng  at  the  station,  and  the  trav- 
elers entering  our  car  fairly  buzzed  thrilling  talk 
of  oil.  Among  them  were  a  number  of  ladles, 
more  bediamonded,  bejeweled  and  begolded  than 
any  group  of  femininity  I  ever  saw  before.  The 
men,  too,  wore  flashing  jewels  and  bore  that  dis- 

40 


Southwestward  to  the  Border 

tlnct  stamp  which  marks  those  who,  with  noncha- 
lance, win  or  lose  a  fortune  in  a  night.  They  were 
by  all  odds  the  toughest-looking  lot  of  elegantly 
clad  men  and  women  I  ever  yet  beheld. 

We  passed  Houston  near  midnight,  and  in  the 
morning  by  eight  o'clock  were  at  San  Antonio,  a 
city  of  wide  streets,  and  spacious  parks  adorned 
everywhere  with  palms  and  palmettoes  and  semi- 
tropical  shrubs.  We  entered  a  'bus  and  drove  a 
mile  to  the  station  of  the  International  and  Great 
Northern  Railway,  which  comes  down  from  St. 
Louis  and  runs  south  seventy  miles  to  Laredo,  on 
the  Rio  Grande  and  the  Mexican  border.  We 
passed  the  bullet-battered  walls  of  the  famous 
Alamo,  the  hallowed  shrine  of  every  loyal  Texan, 
then  a  large  Roman  Catholic  Cathedral  with 
Spanish  roof  and  bell  tower,  a  huge  convent 
and  several  stately  public  buildings.  San  Antonib 
is  a  city  of  forty  thousand  people  and  the  last 
American  town  of  magnitude  north  of  Mexico. 
At  the  station,  where  we  waited  half  an  hour,  I 
saw  my  first  Mexican  greasers,  in  their  prodigious 
sombreros  and  began  to  feel  myself  nearing  a 
strange  land. 

Our  train  from  the  North  drew  In  at  nine 
o'clock,  on  time,  all  vestibuled,  lighted  with  elec- 
tricity, with  a  dining  car  attached,  and  all  its 
equipment  greatly  superior  to  that  of  the  Southern 

41 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Pacific.     It  was  one  of  the  Gould  trains  from  St. 
Louis  to  the  far  South. 

Leaving  San  Antonio,  we  traversed  a  country 
still  flat,  always  flat,  covered  with  sand  and  mes- 
quit  for  miles  and  miles  and  miles.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  see  in  every  direction,  hour  after  hour 
stretched  this  illimitable  monotonous  wilderness. 
The  mesquit  trees  looked  like  ill-grown  peach 
trees.  To  my  unaccustomed  eye,  we  seemed  to 
be  passing  through  endless  barren  orchards,  the 
trees  standing  generally  thirty  or  forty  feet  apart. 
Here  is  the  home  of  the  jack  rabbit,  and  toward 
the  Mexican  border  and  within  reach  of  the  waters 
of  the  Rio  Grande,  deer  abound.  Quail  are  also 
common,  but  of  other  life  there  is  little  or  none. 
Here  and  there  the  mesquit  trees  were  cut  away, 
and  wide,  sandy  fields  were  planted  with  cotton. 
Cattle  also  were  cropping  the  short,  dry  native 
grass.  As  we  traveled  south  the  grass  diminished, 
the  sand  increased  and  the  prickly  cactus  became 
increasingly  plentiful.  At  one  of  the  stations 
where  we  stopped  for  the  engine  to  take  water,  I 
talked  with  a  tall  white-bearded  planter,  who 
stood  holding  his  horse,  the  horse  accoutered  with 
Mexican  saddle  and  lariat,  the  man  in  high  Mex- 
ican sombrero.  "The  labor  hereabouts  is  all  Mex- 
ican," he  said.  "Mexican  peons  you  can  import 
in  unlimited  numbers,  who  are  glad  to  work  for 

42 


jmrn '  I, 


(- 


Southwestward  to  the  Border 

thirty  cents  per  day  and  board  themseh^es.  Hence 
there  are  no  negroes  south  of  San  Antonio,  for  no 
negro  will  work  and  live  on  such  small  pay. 
Moreover,  the  soil  is  so  poor  and  water  is  so 
scarce  that  neither  cotton  nor  cattle  could  here  be 
raised  with  profit,  if  it  were  not  for  the  low  wage 
the  Mexican  is  glad  to  accept." 

We  reached  Laredo,  a  city  of  some  five  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  about  six  o'clock,  P.  M.,  where 
I  sent  the  following  telegram,  "Cane,  cotton,  cat- 
tle, mesquit,  sand  and  cactus,  O.  K.,"  which, 
though  brief,  sums  up  the  country  I  have  been 
traversing  for  the  last  two  days.  Laredo  is  upon 
the  American  side  of  the  Rio  Grande,  which  is 
crossed  by  a  long  bridge  to  Nuevo  Laredo,  in  the 
State  of  Nuevo  Leon.  Here  smartly  uniformed 
Mexican  customs  officers  examined  my  baggage  and 
passed  me  through. 


43 


IV 
On  to  Mexico  City 

Mexico  City,  Mexico, 

November  18th. 

He  llegado  en  esta  c'liidad,  hoy,  cerca  las  ocho 
de  la  mahana!  The  moment  we  crossed  the  Rio 
Grande  we  changed  instantly  from  American 
twentieth  century  civilization  to  mediaeval  Latin- 
Indian.  The  Mexican  town  of  Nuevo  Laredo, 
the  buildings,  the  women,  the  men,  the  boys,  the 
donkeys,  all  were  different.  I  felt  as  though  I  had 
waked  up  in  another  world.  As  we  approached 
the  station  of  the  Mexican  city,  I  noticed  an  old 
man  riding  upon  his  donkey.  His  saddle  was 
fastened  over  the  hips  just  above  the  beast's  tail, 
his  feet  trailed  upon  the  ground.  He  sat  there 
with  immense  dignity  and  self-possession,  viewing 
with  curiosity  the  gringos,  who  had  come  down 
from  the  land  of  the  distant  North.  He  silently 
watched  us  for  some  moments  and  then  rode  sol- 
emnly away,  while  I  wondered  by  what  hand  of 
Providence  it  was  he  did  not  slide  off  behind. 

44 


On  to  Mexico  City 

From  Nuevo  Laredo  to  Monterey,  which  we 
reached  at  half  past  ten  P.  M.,  was  all  one  flat 
mesquit  and  cactus-covered  plain;  sand,  mesquit 
and  cactus;  cactus,  sand  and  mesquit,  mile  after 
mile,  till  darkness  fell  upon  us,  when  we  could  see 
no  more.  Monterey  is  the  center  of  Mexico's 
steel  and  iron  Industries,  of  large  tobacco  manu- 
factories, of  extensive  breweries.  It  Is  the  chief 
manufacturing  city  of  modern  Mexico.  Our  stay 
was  brief,  and  I  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  a 
cloaked  and  high-s ombreroed  crowd,  hurrying  be- 
neath the  glare  of  electric  lamps,  and  then  we 
passed  on  toward  the  great  Interior  plateau  of  the 
Mexican  Highlands. 

During  the  night  it  grew  cold.  I  awoke 
shivering  and  called  for  blankets.  In  San  An- 
tonio the  morning  had  been  warm  and,  all  day, 
south  to  Laredo  and  on  to  Monterey,  the  heat  had 
been  oppressive.  It  was  cold  when  I  left  Ka- 
nawha, but  the  chilly  air  had  not  followed  me 
beyond  New  Orleans,  and  I  had  there  packed  Into 
my  trunk  all  my  warm  clothing  and  checked  It 
through  to  Mexico.  Passing  westward  through 
Louisiana  and  Texas,  the  mild  air  was  delightful 
and  I  was  comfortable  in  my  thinnest  summer 
garments.  Thus  dreaming  of  orange  groves  and 
sunny  tropics  I  fell  asleep.  Now  I  was  shivering 
with  a  deadly  chill,  and  the  thin  keen  air  cut  like 

45 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

a  scimiter.  I  pulled  on  my  overcoat,  which  I  for- 
tunately still  had  with  me,  and  slept  fitfully  till  the 
day. 

We  crossed,  during  the  night,  the  first  great 
mountain  range  which  shuts  out  the  inland  plateau 
of  central  Mexico  from  the  lowland  plains  stretch- 
ing eastward  toward  the  Gulf  and  into  Texas. 
We  climbed  many  thousands  of  feet  to  Saltillo, 
where  the  mercury  almost  registered  frost.  Now 
we  were  descending  the  inner  slopes  of  the  barrier 
mountains,  passing  near  the  battle  field  of  Buena 
Vista,  where  Zachary  Taylor  smote  Santa  Anna 
and  his  dark-skinned  horde,  and  gained  the  fame 
which  made  him  President  of  the  United  States. 
We  were  entering  that  vast  desolate  inland  plain 
which  stretches  so  many  hundreds  of  miles  south 
to  Acambaro,  where  we  should  begin  to  climb 
again  yet  higher  ranges,  crossing  them  at  last — 
at  an  altitude  of  eleven  thousand  feet, — before  we 
should  finally  descend  into  the  high  cool  valley  of 
Anahuac  to  the  City  of  Mexico. 

About  nine  o'clock,  we  drew  up  at  a  wayside 
station  for  breakfast  {almuerzo) .  If  I  had 
known  it,  I  might  have  obtained  my  desayuno 
coiiee  and  roll  at  an  earlier  hour  upon  the  train. 
We  were  now  upon  a  wide-stretching  sandy  level. 
A  cold  mist  hung  over  us.  The  scorching  sun 
was  trying  to  penetrate  this  barrier.     A  band  of 

46 


THE   DESOLATE   PLAINS 


On  to  Mexico  City 

Indians  wrapped  to  their  eyes  in  brilliant  colored 
blankets  of  native  make  {zerapes) ,  their  high- 
peaked  sombreros  pulled  over  their  eyes,  with 
folded  arms,  silent  as  statues,  stood  watching  us. 
I  deliberately  took  their  photograph.  They  did 
not  smile  or  move.  A  group  of  Indian  women 
sitting  on  the  ground  near  these  men  were  not  so 
placid.  They  regarded  the  kodak  as  an  evil  mys- 
tery and  hid  their  faces  In  their  rebozos  when  I 
pointed  my  lens  at  them.  The  strange  instrument 
smacked  of  witchcraft,  and  they  would  none  of 
it.  With  rebozos  still  drawn,  they  got  upon  their 
feet  and  fled. 

In  another  hour  the  bright  white  sun  dissipated 
the  mists.  The  sky  was  blue  and  cloudless.  The 
track  ran  straight,  with  rarely  a  curve,  mile  after 
mile  Into  the  South.  The  land  lay  flat  as  a  table, 
an  arid  plain,  shut  in  by  towering,  verdureless 
mountains,  ranging  along  the  horizon  on  east  and 
west.  All  day  we  thus  sped  south  through  illimit- 
able wastes  of  sand,  and  sage  brush  and  cactus,  and 
a  curious  stunted  palm,  which  lifted  up  a  naked 
trunk  with  a  single  tuft  of  green  at  the  very  end. 
The  landscape  gave  no  sign  of  ever  having  been 
blessed  by  a  drop  of  water,  the  barren  prospect 
extending  upon  all  sides  in  apparently  unending 
monotony. 

Now  and  then  we  passed  a  small  station  made 

47 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

of  adoby  brick.  Now  and  then,  a  cluster  of  adoby 
dwellings  centered  about  a  low-roofed  adoby 
church.  At  one  place  a  half  wild  rancherro  raced 
along  beside  the  train  on  his  broncho,  vainly  try- 
ing to  keep  the  pace  and  wildly  waving  his  som- 
brero as  he  fell  behind.  At  the  stations  were 
always  women  and  children,  and  the  ever  silent 
men  standing  like  statues.  They  never  moved, 
they  never  spoke,  they  never  smiled;  they  gazed 
at  us  with  blank  astonishment.  As  we  came  fur- 
ther and  further  south,  the  extreme  aridness  of 
the  landscape  began  to  lessen.  Cattle  began  to 
appear  upon  the  plain,  adoby  villages  became  more 
frequent,  the  swarthy  dark  brown  population  be- 
came more  numerous.  Toward  midafternoon,  the 
towers,  the  high  walls,  the  red  tiled  roofs  of  a 
great  church,  a  cathedral,  and  a  town  of  magni- 
tude grew  large  before  us.  We  drew  up  at  a 
fine,  commodious  station,  built  of  red  sandstone. 
There,  gathered  to  meet  the  train,  were  curious 
two-wheeled  carts  and  antique  carriages  with  high 
wheels,  drawn  by  mules;  many  donkeys  bearing 
burdens,  some  with  men  sitting  upon  their  hips; 
a  multitude  of  dark-faced  Latins,  men  in  high 
sombreros,  the  women  with  heads  enveloped  in 
rebozos  or  mantillas.  We  were  at  the  station 
built  a  mile  distant  from  the  important  city  of  San 
Louis  Potosi,  one  of  the  great  ore-smelting  centers 

48 


AWAITING  OUR  TRAIN 


On  to  Mexico  City 

of  Mexico,  and  a  city  of  sixty  tiiousand  inhabit- 
ants. In  the  station  we  dined,  and  I  ate  my  first 
Mexican  fruits,  one  a  sort  of  custard  apple,  and 
all  delicious. 

In  the  car  with  me  sat  a  Mexican  youth,  who 
had  evidently  been  studying  and  traveling  in  the 
States.  He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  American 
fashion,  and  bore  himself  as  a  young  gentleman 
of  means.  As  he  stepped  from  the  train  he  was 
enveloped  in  the  arms  of  another  youth  of  about 
his  own  age.  They  clasped  their  right  hands  and 
patted  each  other  on  the  small  of  the  back  with 
their  left  hands,  and  kissed  each  other's  cheeks, 
and  then  he  was  similarly  embraced  by  a  big 
stately  man,  over  six  feet  In  height,  with  a  long 
gray  beard,  who  carried  himself  with  great  dig- 
nity. The  two  were  dressed  in  full  Mexican  cos- 
tume, with  tight-fitting  pantaloones  flaring  at  the 
bottom  and  laced  with  silver  cording  on  the  sides, 
short  velvet  jackets  embroidered  with  gold  lace, 
high  felt  hats  with  gold  cords  and  tassels,  and 
their  monograms  six  inches  high  in  burnished 
metal  fastened  on  the  side  of  the  crown.  Several 
peons  seized  the  young  man's  bags  and  American 
suit-case,  and  the  party  moved  toward  a  six-mule 
carryall,  set  high  on  enormous  wheels.  The  trav- 
eler was  evidently  the  son  of  one  of  the  great 
haciendados,  whose  estates  lay  perhaps  fifty  miles 
4  49 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

away.  Only  grandees  of  the  first  magnitude  travel 
by  carriage  In  Mexico. 

Our  colored  porter,  black  as  jet,  was  also  in 
a  happy  mood.  The  first  of  his  series  of  Mexican 
sweethearts  had  come  to  greet  him,  bringing  him 
a  basket  of  fruit.  She  was  comely,  with  fine  dark 
eyes,  her  long  hair  coiled  beneath  her  purple 
rebozo.  There  is  no  color  line  in  Mexico  and 
Sam  proved  himself  to  be  a  great  beau  among  the 
Mexican  muchachas. 

Sitting  in  the  smoking  compartment  of  my  car, 
during  the  morning,  I  found  myself  In  company 
with  three  Mexican  gentlemen  who  entered  at 
Monterey.  They  could  speak  no  English.  My 
Spanish  was  limited.  But  as  we  sat  there  I  be- 
came conscious  of  a  most  friendly  Interchange  of 
sentiment  between  us.  They  were  demonstratively 
gracious.  One  of  them  offered  me  a  fine  cigar, 
the  other  Insisted  that  I  accept  of  his  cigarettos, 
and  they  would  accept  none  of  mine  until  I  first 
took  one  from  them.  They  sent  the  porter  for 
beer,  and  insisted  that  I  share  with  them.  They 
even  got  out  at  one  of  the  way  stations  and  bought 
fragrant  light  skinned  oranges,  and  pressed  me  to 
share  the  fruit.  I  could  not  speak  to  them,  nor 
they  to  me,  but  I  became  aware  that  they  were 
members  of  the  Masonic  order.  T  wore  my  Mas- 
ter Mason's  badge.     They  displayed  no  outward 

50 


MULES  CARRYING  CORN 


On  to  Mexico  City 

tokens,  but  their  glances  and  friendliness  revealed 
their  fraternal  sentiments.  They  treated  me  with 
distinguished  courtesy  through  all  the  journey  to 
Mexico  City,  and  at  last  said  good-bye  with  evi- 
dent regret.  At  a  later  time,  I  learned  that  a 
Mexican  of  the  Masonic  Fraternity  wears  no  out- 
ward sign  of  his  membership,  owing  to  the  hos- 
tility of  the  yet  dominant  Roman  Church,  while 
the  Masonic  bond  is  of  peculiar  strength  by  very 
reason  of  that  animosity. 

After  leaving  San  Louis  Potosi,  the  great  in- 
land plain  which  we  had  all  day  been  traversing 
grew  more  and  more  broken.  We  came  among 
small  hills,  with  here  and  there  deep  ravines,  and 
we  began  turning  slightly  toward  the  west  and 
climbing  by  easy  grades  toward  distant,  towering 
mountains  far  upon  the  horizon  to  the  south. 
Water  now  became  more  plentiful.  We  followed 
the  course  of  a  stream,  wide,  between  high  banks, 
where  were  long  reaches  of  sand  Interspersed  with 
well  filled  pools.  There  were  adoby  villages  in 
increasing  numbers,  and  here  and  there  were  little 
churches  or  chapels,  each  surmounted  with  a  large 
cross.  I  counted  more  than  a  hundred  of  these 
chapels  In  the  course  of  a  few  miles.  It  was  as 
though  the  whole  population  had  for  centuries  de- 
voted Its  time  to  building  these  shrines.  Some 
were  dilapidated  and  in  ill  repair,  others  looked 

51 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

as  though  recently  constructed.  Each  has  its  Ma- 
donna, and  each  is  venerated  and  cared  for  by 
the  family  who  may  have  erected  it.  It  was  eight 
o'clock  and  dark  when  we  reached  Acambaro  where 
a  good  supper  awaited  us  in  the  commodious 
station. 

Just  as  the  train  was  starting,  I  asked  some 
questions  of  the  American  conductor  and,  after 
a  little  conversation  with  him,  was  surprised  to 
find  that  he  was  a  West  Virginian  from  Kanawha. 
"Senor  Brooks,"  he  said,  who  had  grown  up  near 
"Coal's  Mouth,"  now  St.  Albans.  He  was  de- 
lighted to  learn  from  me  of  Charleston  and  the 
Kanawha  Valley,  and  hoped  some  day  to  return 
and  see  the  home  of  his  childhood.  He  now  loved 
Mexico.  Its  dry  and  sunny  climate  had  given  him 
life,  when  in  the  colder  latitude  of  West  Virginia 
he  would  have  perished. 

During  the  night,  while  crossing  the  summit 
of  the  Sierra,  at  La  Cima, — nearly  eleven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea, — it  became  intensely  cold 
again,  even  colder  than  when  we  crossed  the  moun- 
tains near  Saltillo.  The  chill  again  awoke  me, 
when  I  discovered  that  we  were  rolling  down  into 
the  valley  of  Anahuac  toward  the  City  of  Mexico. 
We  were  soon  below  the  mists  and  beneath  a 
cloudless  sky,  yet  I  felt  no  undue  heat,  but  rather, 
a  quickening  exhilaration  in  the  pure,  dry  air.    As 

52 


A  CARGADORE  BEARING  VEGETABLES 


On  to  Mexico  City 

we  curved  and  twisted  and  descended  the  sharp 
grades,  many  vistas  of  exceeding  beauty  burst 
upon  the  eye.  We  were  entering  a  wide  valley 
of  great  fertility  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains, 
and  to  the  far  south,  fifty  miles  away,  the  burn- 
ished domes  of  Popocatepetl  and  Ixtacciuhatl, 
lifted  their  ice  crests  into  space,  eighteen  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Far  beneath  us 
glittered  and  glinted  the  waters  of  Lakes  Tezcoco, 
Xochimilco  and  Chalco,  once  joined,  but  now  sep- 
arated, by  the  rescued  land  on  which  stood  Te- 
nochtitlan,  the  mighty  capital  of  Montezuma,  even 
yet  to-day  a  city  exceeding  four  hundred  thousand 
souls  (when  Cortez  conquered  it,  it  is  said  to  have 
held  more  than  a  million).  Everywhere  the  eye 
rested  upon  fruitful  land,  tilled  under  irrigation, 
containing  plantations  of  .maguey,  orchards  of 
oranges  and  limes,  and  pomegranates,  and  groves 
of  figs  and  olives — all  forming  a  landscape  where 
spring  is  perpetually  enthroned. 

Along  the  roads,  trains  of  pack  mules  and 
burros,  heavily  laden,  were  toiling  toward  the 
great  city,  and  many  footfarers  were  bearing  upon 
their  backs  enormous  packs,  the  weight  resting  on 
the  shoulders,  and  held  in  place  by  a  strap  about 
the  forehead.  When  the  Aztecs  were  lords  of 
Mexico  and  Montezuma  ruled,  the  horse,  the  ox, 
the  ass,  the  sheep  were  unknown  upon  the  Amer- 

53 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

ican  continent.  All  burdens  and  all  freight  were 
then  carried  upon  the  backs  and  shoulders  of  the 
Indians,  who  from  their  forefathers  had  inherited 
the  hardy  muscles  and  the  right  to  bear  the  traffic 
of  the  land.  And  from  these  ancestors  the  Indian 
cargadores  of  to-day  have  received  the  astonishing 
strength,  enabling  them  to  bear  these  great  loads 
with  apparent  ease;  the  Indian,  with  his  jog-trot 
gait,  carrying  a  hundred  pounds  upon  his  back  a 
distance  of  fifty  miles  a  day.  A  large  part  of 
the  fruit,  vegetables  and  tropical  products  dis- 
played each  day  in  the  markets  of  the  city  are 
thus  brought  up  from  distant  lowland  plantations 
upon  the  backs  of  men.  As  we  approached  the 
city,  nearer  and  nearer,  the  highways  we  ran  beside 
or  cut  across  were  filled  more  and  more  with  these 
pack  trains  and  cargadores,  and  with  men  and 
women  faring  cityward. 

We  finally  drew  into  a  large  newly-built  sta- 
tion of  white  sandstone.  Pandemonium  reigned 
upon  the  platform  alongside  which  we  stopped. 
Men  were  embracing  each  other,  slapping  each 
other's  backs  and  kissing  either  cheek.  Women 
flew  into  each  other's  arms  and  children  kissed 
their  elders'  hands.  We  passed  along  through 
wide  gateways  and  into  a  paved  semicircular  court- 
yard, where  were  drawn  up  carriages  with  bands 
of  yellow  or  red  or  blue  across  the  door.    Those 

54 


On  to  Mexico  City 

with  yellow  bands  are  cheap  and  dirty,  those 
with  blue  bands  mean  a  double  fare  and  those 
with  red  bands  are  clean  and  make  a  reasonable 
charge,  all  of  which  is  regulated  by  the  Federal 
government.  I  entered  one  of  the  red-banded 
vehicles.  The  driver  called  two  cargadores,  who 
seized  my  steamer  trunks,  loaded  them  on  their 
backs  and  ran  along  beside  us.  The  horses  started 
on  a  half  gallop  and  when  we  reached  the  hotel, 
the  cargadores,  with  the  trunks  upon  their  backs 
were  there  as  well,  less  out  of  breath  than  the 
panting  team,  and  each  was  gratified  with  a  Mex- 
ican quarter  for  his  pay  (equal  to  an  American 
dime),  while  my  cochero  swore  in  profuse  Spanish 
because  I  did  not  pay  him  five  times  his  legal  fare. 
I  was  come  to  the  one-time  palace  of  the  Em- 
peror Iturbide,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  Amer- 
ican speaking  Administrador,  in  softly  accented 
Louisianian  speech. 


55 


First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City 

Hotel  Iturbide, 

November  20th. 

When  I  awoke  this  morning,  the  bare  stone 
walls  of  my  chamber,  the  stone-paved  floor,  the 
thin  morning  air  ckifting  in  through  the  wide-open 
casements,  all  combined  to  give  me  that  sensation 
of  nipping  chilliness,  which  may  perhaps  only  be 
met  in  altitudes  as  high  as  these.  I  am  a  mile 
and  a  quarter  in  the  air  above  the  city  of  Charles- 
ton-Kanawha, a  mile  and  half  above  the  city  of 
New  York.  By  the  time  I  had  made  my  hasty 
toilet,  my  fingers  were  numb  with  the  cold.  I  put 
on  my  winter  clothes,  which  I  had  brought  with 
me  for  use  when  returning  to  Virginia  in  January. 
I  also  put  on  my  overcoat. 

Leaving  my  vault-like  chamber,  I  passed  along 
the  stone-flagged  hallways,  down  the  stone  flights 
of  stairs,  into  the  stone-paved  court,  passed  out 
through  the  narrow  porter's  door  and  found  my- 
self among  the  footfarers  on  the  Calle  de  San 
Francisco.     It  was  early.    The  street  was  still  in 

56 


A   SNAP-SHOT   FOR  A   CENTAVO 


CARGADORES  TOTING   CASKS 


First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City 

the  morning  shadows.  The  passers-by,  whom  I 
met,  were  warmly  wrapped  up.  The  rebozos  of 
the  women  were  wound  about  the  head  and  mouth. 
The  zerapes  of  the  men  were  held  closely  about 
the  shoulders  and  covered  the  lower  face.  Over- 
coats were  everywhere  In  evidence,  and  scarfs 
shielded  the  mouths  of  the  Frenchly  uniformed 
police.  All  these  were  precautions  against  the 
dread  pneumonia,  the  most  feared  and  fatal  ail- 
ment of  Mexico. 

I  entered  a  restaurant  kept  by  an  Irishman 
speaking  with  a  Limerick  brogue,  but  calling  him- 
self a  citizen  of  the  United  States.  I  came  into  a 
high,  square  room  with  stone  walls,  stone  floor, 
windows  without  glass,  with  many  little  tables 
accommodating  three  and  four.  Here  were  a  few 
Americans  with  their  hats  off,  and  many  Mex- 
icans with  their  hats  on.  A  dish  of  strawberries 
was  my  first  course,  the  berries  not  very  large,  a 
pale  pink  In  color,  very  faint  In  flavor.  These  are 
gathered  every  day  In  the  year  from  the  gardens 
In  the  neighborhood  of  the  city.  My  coffee  was 
con  leche  (with  milk).  I  asked  for  rolls  and  a 
couple  of  blanquillos  (eggs)  passados  por  agua 
(passed  through  the  water,  I.  e.  soft  boiled) .  For 
a  tip,  cinco  centavos  (five  cents  In  Mexican,  equal 
to  two  cents  in  United  States)  was  regarded  as 
liberal  by  the  Indian  waiter.     Upon  leaving  the 

57 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

wide  entrance,  I  found  the  shadows  fled  and  the 
sunshine  flooding  its  white  rays  upon  the  street. 

Leaving  my  overcoat  in  the  hotel,  I  took  my 
way  toward  the  lovely  Alameda  Park,  where, 
choosing  a  seat  beneath  a  splendid  cypress,  I  sat 
in  the  delicious  sunshine  and  watched  the  moving 
crowds.  Many  droves  of  mules,  laden  with  pro- 
ducts of  the  soil,  were  coming  into  the  city.  Later 
in  the  day,  these  same  carriers  of  freight  go  out 
again,  laden  with  merchandise  for  distribution  to 
all  the  cities  and  villages  of  the  mountain  hinter- 
lands. 

An  Indian  mother  passes  by,  her  baby  caught 
in  the  folds  of  her  rebozo.  I  toss  her  a  centavo, 
and  she  allows  me  to  kodak  herself  and  child. 

A  handsome  man  riding  a  fine,  black  horse, 
pauses  a  moment  at  the  curb.  He  is  gratified 
that  I  should  admire  the  splendid  animal.  He 
.reins  him  in,  and  I  capture  a  view. 

A  rancherro  in  all  the  gaudy  splendor  of  gilt 
braid,  silver-laced  pantaloones,  and  costly  saddle, 
behung  with  ornaments  of  trailing  angora  goat's 
wool,  draws  near  me.  He  permits  me  to  photo- 
graph his  fine  sorrel  horse,  but  will  never  allow 
me  to  take  himself  face  to  face.  He  halts,  that 
his  animal  may  be  admired  by  the  passing  throngs; 
he  chats  with  friends  who  linger  by  his  side,  but 
whenever  I  try  to  catch  his  face  he  wheels  about. 

S8 


2  : 

^^^f   ' ■        -   '^M^^^^j^r^ 

First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City 

The  diilce  sellers  bearing  sweets  in  trays  upon 
their  heads;  the  flower  venders  carrying  baskets 
piled  high,  such  roses  as  only  veritable  trees  may 
yield,  come  also  within  the  vision  of  my  kodak. 

Later,  I  take  my  way  to  the  Plaza  Grande, 
fronting  the  Cathedral,  and  there  again  catch 
glimpses  of  the  life  of  the  city.  Here  are  men 
bearing  upon  their  shoulders  casks,  apparently 
filled,  bales  of  garden  produce,  crates  of  chickens. 
Every  sort  of  portable  thing  is  here  borne  upon 
the  human  back.  Now  and  then  one  or  another 
seats  himself  upon  the  stone  and  Iron  benches  and 
engages  In  gossip.  Of  these,  also,  my  camera 
makes  note. 

Later  in  the  morning,  I  saunter  through  many 
streets,  Inquiring  my  way  to  one  of  the  great 
markets.  Here  I  linger,  going  about  from  stall 
to  stall  and  taking  a  picture  as  my  fancy  urges. 
A  policeman,  uniformed  like  a  Paris  gendarme, 
eyes  me  curiously,  comprehends  the  power  of  my 
camera,  and  comes  up  to  me  smiling.  He  drives 
back  the  crowd,  calls  up  his  companion-in-arms 
and  stands  at  attention,  begging  me  to  send  him 
a  copy  of  the  picture.  A  group  of  errand  boys, 
who  carry  large  flat  baskets,  and  will  take  any- 
thing home  you  buy,  attracted  by  the  mysterious 
black  box,  line  up  and  motion  that  their  pictures 
also  be  taken.     The  instantaneous  movement  of 

59 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  shutter  strikes  them  with  wonder,  when,  throw- 
ing a  few  centavos  among  them,  I  catch  them  now 
strugghng  for  the  coin.  I  have  become  the  center 
of  attraction.  The  swarming  street  crowd  crushes 
about  me,  all  eager  to  face  the  magic  instrument, 
till  I  am  fain  to  call  upon  my  policemen  friends 
to  fend  them  off. 

Standing  there,  joking  with  my  guardians  and 
keeping  the  good  will  of  the  increasing  mob,  I 
am  accosted  by  a  tall,  thin-bearded  gentleman  in 
rusty  though  once  fashionable  black.  He  speaks 
to  me  in  French.  He  is  from  Paris,  he  says;  and 
Ah !  have  I  really  been  there  in  Paris !  Tres  jolie 
Paris/  He  also  enjoys  coming  to  the  markets, 
and  wandering  among  the  stalls,  and  watching  the 
people,  and  noting  their  habits  and  their  ways. 
He  guides  me  about  among  the  different  sections, 
commenting  on  the  fruits  and  vegetables  and 
wares.  When  we  have  spent  an  interesting  hour, 
he  invites  me  to  share  a  bottle  of  French  wine, 
a  delicious  claret,  and  then,  lifting  his  hat,  bids 
me  adieu  and  is  lost  forever  among  the  swarming 
multitudes. 

There  is  so  much  to  see  in  this  ancient  city, 
so  much  to  feel!  It  is  so  filled  with  historical 
romance !  As  I  wander  about  it,  my  mind  and 
imagination  are  continually  going  back  to  the 
pages  of  Prescott  and  Arthur  Helps,  whose  his- 

60 


A   RANCHERRO   DUDE 


First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City 

tones  of  Spanish  invasion  and  conquest  I  used  to 
pore  over  when  a  boy,  and  to  the  tragedies  which 
Rider  Haggard  and  Lew  Wallace  so  graphically 
portray.  I  scarcely  dare  take  up  my  pen,  so  afraid 
am  I  of  retelling  what  you  already  know.  I  am 
ever  seeing  the  house  tops  swarming  with  the  dark 
hosts  of  Montezuma,  hurling  the  rocks  and  rain- 
ing the  arrows  upon  the  steel-clad  ranks  of  Cortez 
and  his  Christian  bandits  as  they  fight  for  life 
and  for  dominion  In  these  very  streets  below. 

I  stood,  this  morning,  within  the  splendid  ca- 
thedral, built  upon  the  very  spot  where  once  tow- 
ered the  gigantic  pyramid  on  whose  summit  the 
Aztec  priests  sacrificed  their  human  victims  to  their 
gods,  while  down  In  the  dungeons  beneath  my  feet, 
the  Holy  Inquisition,  a  few  years  later,  had  also 
tortured  men  to  their  death,  human  victims  sacri- 
ficed to  the  glory  of  the  Roman  Church.  An  Az- 
tec pagan,  a  Spanish  Christian,  both  sped  the  soul 
to  Paradise  through  blood  and  pain,  and  I  won- 
dered, as  I  watched  an  Indian  mother  kneel  Ih 
humble  penitence  before  an  effigy  of  the  Virgin, 
and  fix  a  lighted  taper  upon  the  altar  before  the 
shrine,  whether  she,  too,  felt  clustering  about  her, 
in  the  sombre  shadows  of  the  seml-twillght,  mem- 
ories of  these  tragedies  which  have  so  oppressed 
her  race. 

On  these  pavements,  also,  I  review  in  fancy 
6i 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  serried  regiments  of  France  and  Austria  mar- 
shaled in  the  attempt  to  thrust  Maximillian  upon 
a  m-Atlantic  Imperial  throne.  In  this  day,  one 
recalls  almost  with  incredulity  the  insolence  of  this 
conspiracy  by  European  Monarchy  to  steal  a 
march  on  Western  liberty,  when  it  was  thought 
that  democracy  was  forever  smitten  to  the  death 
by  civil  war.  But  the  bold  scheme  was  done  to 
death  by  Juarez,  the  Aztec,  without  Sheridan's 
having  to  come  further  south  than  the  Rio  Grande. 

All  these  pictures  of  the  past,  and  many  more, 
crowd  thick  upon  me  as  I  walk  the  streets  and 
avenues  of  this  now  splendid  modern  city. 

I  have  also  tried  to  see  what  I  could  of  the 
churches, — the  more  Important  of  them — which 
here  abound,  but  my  brain  is  all  In  a  whirl,  and 
saints  and  Madonnas  troop  by  me  In  confused  and 
Interminable  train. 

Ever  since  Cortez  roasted  Guatemozin  upon  a 
bed  of  coals,  to  hasten  his  conversion  to  the  Ro- 
man faith  and  quicken  his  memory  as  to  the  loca- 
tion of  Montezuma's  hidden  treasure,  the  Spanish 
conquerors  have  been  building  churches,  shrines 
and  chapels  to  the  glory  of  the  Virgin,  the  salva- 
tion of  their  own  souls  and  the  profit  of  their  pri- 
vate purse.  Whenever  a  Spaniard  got  In  a  tight 
place,  he  vowed  a  church,  a  chapel  or  a  shrine  to 
the  Virgin  or  a  saint.     If  luck  was  with  him,  he 

62 


First  Impressions  of  Mexico  City 

had  n't  tiie  nerve  to  back  down,  but  made  some 
show  of  keeping  his  vow  and,  the  work  once 
started,  there  were  enough  other  vowing  sinners 
to  push  the  job  along.  Mexican  genius  has  found 
its  highest  expression  in  its  many  and  beautiful 
churches,  and  perhaps  it  has  been  a  good  thing 
for  genius  that  so  many  sinners  have  been  ready 
to  gamble  on  a  vow. 

When  Juarez  shot  Maximilian  he  also  smote 
the  Roman  Church.  The  Archbishop  of  Mexico, 
and  the  church  of  which  he  was  virtual  primate, 
had  backed  the  Austrian  invader.  Even  Pope 
Pius  IX  had  shed  benedictions  on  the  plot.  When 
the  Republic  crushed  the  conspirators,  the  Roman 
Church  was  at  once  deprived  of  all  visible  power. 
Every  foot  of  land,  every  church  edifice,  every 
monastery,  every  convent  the  church  owned  In  all 
Mexico  was  confiscated  by  the  Republic.  The 
lands  and  many  buildings  were  sold  and  the  money 
put  in  the  National  Treasury.  Monks  and  nuns 
were  banished.  Priests  were  prohibited  from 
wearing  any  but  ordinary  garb.  The  Roman 
Church  was  forbidden  ever  again  to  own  a  rod  of 
stone  or  a  foot  of  land. 

So  now  It  Is,  that  the  priest  wears  a  "bee-gum" 
hat  and  Glengarry  coat,  and  the  state  takes  what- 
ever church-edifices  It  wants  for  public  use.  The 
church  of  San  Augustin  Is  a  public  library.    Many 

63 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

churches  have  been  converted  into  schools.  Others 
have  been  pulled  down,  and  modern  buildings 
erected  in  their  stead.  The  cloisters  and  chapel 
of  the  monastery  of  the  Franciscans  are  leased  to 
laymen,  and  have  become  the  hotel  Jardin.  What 
churches  the  Republic  did  not  need  to  use,  it  has 
been  willing  to  rent  to  the  Roman  hierarchy  for 
the  religious  uses  of  the  people.  So  many  have 
been  these  edifices  that,  despite  the  government's 
appropriations  and  private  occupations,  there  yet 
remain  church  buildings  innumerable  where  the 
pious  may  worship  and  the  priesthood  celebrate 
the  mass.  But  the  Roman  hierarchy  has  no  longer 
the  wealth  and  will  to  keep  these  buildings  in  re- 
pair and  in  all  of  those  I  visited  there  was  much 
dilapidation. 

While  it  is  true  that  the  stern  laws  of  the 
Republic  debar  the  Roman  Church  from  owning 
land,  yet,  it  is  said,  this  law  is  now  evaded 
by  a  system  of  subrosa  trusteeships,  whereby  se- 
cret trustees  already  hold  vast  accumulations  of 
land  and  money  to  its  use.  And  although  the 
church  cannot  go  into  court  to  enforce  the  trust, 
yet  the  threat  of  dire  pains  in  Purgatory  is  seem- 
ingly so  effective  that  there  is  said  to  have  been 
extraordinary  little  loss  by  stealing.  The  promise 
of  easy  passage  to  Paradise  also  makes  easy  the 
evasion  of  human  law. 

64 


LA  CASA  DE  AZULEJOS,  NOW  JOCKEY  CLUB 


VI 

Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life 

Hotel  Iturbide,  Mexico, 

No'vember  22a. 

This  limpid  atmosphere,  this  vivifying  sun, — 
how  they  redden  the  blood  and  exhilarate  the 
spirit!  This  Is  a  sunshine  which  never  brings  the 
sweat.  But  yet,  however  hot  the  sun  may  be, 
It  Is  cold  In  the  shadow,  and  at  this  I  am  perpetu- 
ally surprised. 

The  custom  of  the  hotels  In  this  Latin  land 
is  to  let  rooms  upon  the  "European"  plan,  leaving 
the  guest  free  to  dine  in  the  separate  cafe  of  the 
hotel  Itself,  or  to  take  his  meals  wherever  he  may 
choose  among  the  city's  multitude  of  lunch  rooms 
and  restaurants.  Thus  I  may  take  my  desayuno 
in  an  "American"  restaurant,  where  the  dishes  are 
of  the  American  type,  and  my  almuerzo,  the  mld- 
mornlng  meal.  In  an  ItaHan  restaurant  where  the 
dishes  of  sunny  Italy  are  served;  while  for  my 
comida,  I  stroll  through  a  narrow  doorway  be- 
tween sky  blue  pillars,   and  enter  a  long,  stone- 

s  6s 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

flagged  chamber,  where  neat  tables  are  set  about 
and  where  the  Creole  French  of  Louisiana  is  the 
speech  of  the  proprietor.  Here  are  served  the 
most  delicious  meals  I  have  yet  discovered.  If 
you  want  fish,  a  swarthy  Indian  waiter  presents 
before  you  a  large  silver  salver  on  which  are  ar- 
ranged different  sorts  of  fish  fresh  from  the  sea, 
for  these  are  daily  received  in  the  city.  Or,  per- 
haps, you  desire  game,  when  a  tray  upon  which 
are  spread  ducks  and  snipe  and  plover,  the  heads 
and  wings  yet  feathered,  is  presented  to  you.  Or 
a  platter  of  beefsteaks,  chops  and  cutlets  is  held 
before  you.  From  these  you  select  what  you  may 
wish.  If  you  like,  you  may  accompany  the  waiter 
who  hands  your  choice  to  the  cook,  and  you  may 
stand  and  see  the  fish  or  duck  or  chop  done  to  a 
turn,  as  you  shall  approve,  upon  the  fire  before 
your  eyes.  You  are  asked  to  take  nothing  for 
granted,  but  having  ascertained  to  your  own  satis- 
faction that  the  food  Is  fresh,  you  may  verify  its 
preparation,  and  eat  It  contentedly  without  mis- 
giving. In  this  autumn  season,  flocks  of  ducks 
come  to  spend  their  winters  upon  the  lakes  sur- 
rounding the  city.  At  a  cost  of  thirty  cents,  our 
money,  you  may  have  a  delicious  broiled  teal  with 
fresh  peas  and  lettuce,  and  as  much  fragrant  cof- 
fee as  you  will  drink.  The  food  is  cheap,  whole- 
some and  abundant.    And  what  is  time  to  a  cook 

66 


PLEASED  WITH   MY  CAMERA 


Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life 

whose  wages  may  be  ten  or  fifteen  centavos  a  day, 
akhough  his  skill  be  of  the  greatest  I 

The  city  is  full  of  fine  big  shops  whose  large 
windows  present  lavish  displays  of  sumptuous  fab- 
rics. There  is  great  wealth  in  Mexico.  There  is 
also  abject  poverty.  The  income  of  the  rich  comes 
to  them  without  toil  from  their  vast  estates,  often 
inherited  in  direct  descent  from  the  Royal  Grants 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to  the  Conquestadores 
of  Cortez,  when  the  fruitful  lands  of  the  con- 
quered Aztecs  ,were  parceled  out  among  the 
hungry  Spanish  compatieros  of  the  Conqueror. 
Some  of  these  farms  or  haciendas,  as  they  are 
called,  contain  as  many  as  a  million  acres. 

Mexico  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  free 
trade  country,  and  the  fabrics  and  goods  of  Eu- 
rope mostly  supply  the  needs  and  fancies  of  the 
Mexicans.  The  dry  goods  stores  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  French,  with  here  and  there  a  Spaniard 
from  old  Spain;  the  drug  stores  are  kept  by  Ger- 
mans, who  all  speak  fluent  Spanish,-  and  the  cheap 
cutlery  and  hardware  are  generally  of  German 
make.  The  wholesale  and  retail  grocers  have 
been  Spaniards,  but  this  trade  is  how  drifting  to 
the  Americans.  There  are  some  fine  jewelry 
stores,  and  gems  and  gold  work  are  displayed  in 
their  windows  calculated  to  dazzle  even  an  Amer- 
ican.    The  Mexican  delights  in  jewels,  and  men 

67 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

and  women  love  to  have  their  fingers  ablaze  with 
sparkling  diamonds,  and  their  fronts  behung  with 
many  chains  of  gold.  And  opals !  Everyone  will 
sell  you  opals ! 

In  leather  work,  the  Mexican  is  a  master  art- 
ist. He  has  inherited  the  art  from  the  clever 
artificers  among  the  ancient  Moors.  Coats  and 
pantaloons  (I  use  purposely  the  word  pantaloons) 
and  hats  are  made  of  leather,  soft,  light  and  elastic 
as  woven  fibre.  And  as  for  saddles  and  bridles, 
all  the  accoutrements  of  the  cahallero  are  here 
made  more  sumptuously  than  anywhere  in  all  the 
world. 

The  shops  are  opened  early  in  the  morning 
and  remain  open  until  noon,  when  most  of  them 
are  closed  until  three  o'clock,  while  the  clerks  are 
allowed  to  take  their  siesta,  the  midday  rest. 
Then  in  the  cool  hours  of  the  evening  they  stay 
open  until  late. 

Over  on  one  side  of  a  small  park,  under  the 
projecting  loggia  of  a  long,  low  building,  I  no- 
ticed, to-day,  a  dozen  or  more  little  tables,  by  each 
of  which  sat  a  dignified,  solemn-looking  man. 
Some  were  waiting  for  customers,  others  were 
writing  at  the  dictation  of  their  clients;  several 
were  evidently  composing  love  letters  for  the  shy, 
brown  muchachas  who  whispered  to  them.  Of 
the  thirteen  millions  constituting  the  population  of 

68 


Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life 

the  Mexican  Republic,  less  than  two  millions  can 
read  and  write.  Hence  it  is,  that  this  profession 
of  scribe  is  one  of  influence  and  profit. 

I  have  once  more  visited  the  famous  cathedral 
which  faces  the  Plaza  Grande.  From  the  north 
tower  of  it,  to  the  top  of  which  I  climbed  by  a 
wonderful  convoluted  staircase,  ninety-two  spiral 
steps  without  a  core,  I  gained  a  view  of  the  city. 
North  and  south  and  east  and  west  it  spread  out 
several  miles  in  extent.  It  lies  beneath  the  view, 
a  city  of  flat  roofs,  covering  structures  rarely  more 
than  two  stories  high,  of  stone  and  sun-dried  brick, 
and  painted  sky  blue,  pink  and  yellow,  or  else 
remaining  as  white  and  clean  as  when  first  built, 
-who  knows  how  many  hundreds  of  years  ago? 
For  here  are  no  chimneys,  no  smoke  and  no  soot! 
To  the  south  I  could  descry  the  glistening  surface 
of  Lake  Tezcoco,  and  to  the  west,  at  a  greater  dis- 
tance, Lakes  Chalco  and  Xochomilco.  Never  a 
cloud  flecked  the  dark  blue  dome  of  the  sky. 
Only,  overhead,  I  noted  one  burst  of  refulgent 
whiteness.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  could  com- 
pel my  comprehension  to  grasp  the  fact  that  this 
was  nothing  less  than  the  snow  summit  of  mighty 
Popocatepetl,  so  distant  that  tree  and  earth  and 
rock  along  its  base,  even  in  this  pellucid  atmos- 
phere, were  hid  in  perpetual  haze. 

It  is  said  that  peoples  differ  from  one  another 

69 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

not  merely  in  color,  in  form  and  in  manners,  but 
equally  so  in  their  peculiar  and  individual  odors. 
The  Chinese  are  said  to  find  the  European  offens- 
ive to  their  olfactory  nerves  because  he  smells  so 
much  like  a  sheep.  The  Englishman  vows  the 
Italian  reeks  with  the  scent  of  garlic.  The  French- 
man declares  the  German  unpleasant  because  his 
presence  suggests  the  fumes  of  beer.  Just  so,  have 
I  been  told  that  the  great  cities  of  the  world  may 
be  distinguished  by  their  odors.  Paris  Is  said  to 
exhale  absinthe.  London  Is  said  to  smell  of  ale 
and  stale  tobacco,  and  Mexico  City,  I  think,  may 
be  said  to  be  enwrapped  with  the  scent  of  pulque 
{Pool-Kay).  "Pulque,  blessed  pulque,"  says  the 
Mexican !  Pulque,  the  great  national  drink  of  the 
ancient  Aztec,  which  has  been  readily  adopted  by 
the  Spanish  conqueror,  and  which  is  to-day  the 
favorite  intoxicating  beverage  of  every  bibulating 
Mexican.  At  the  railway  stations,  as  we  de- 
scended into  the  great  valley  wherein  Mexico  City 
lies,  Indian  women  handed  up  little  brown  pitchers 
of  pulque,  fresh  pulque  new  tapped.  Sweet  and 
cool  and  delicious  it  was,  as  mild  as  lemonade  (in 
this  unfermented  condition  It  is  called  agua  m'tel, 
honey  water) .  The  thirsty  passengers  reached 
out  of  the  car  windows  and  gladly  paid  the  cinco 
centavos  (five  cents)  and  drank  It  at  leisure  as  the 
train  rolled  on.     Through  miles  and  miles  we 

70 


A  PULQUE  PEDDLER 


Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life 

traversed  plantations  of  the  maguey  plant  from 
which  the  pulque  Is  extracted.  For  pulque  Is  merely 
the  sap  of  the  maguey  or  "century  plant,"  which 
accumulates  at  the  base  of  the  flower  stalk,  just  be- 
fore It  begins  to  shoot  up.  The  pulque-ga.thcrer 
thrusts  a  long,  hollow  reed  Into  the  stalk,  sucks  It 
full  to  the  mouth,  using  the  tongue  for  a  stopper, 
and  then  blows  It  Into  a  pigskin  sack  which  he 
carries  on  his  back.  When  the  pigskin  Is  full  of 
juice.  It  Is  emptied  into  a  tub,  and  when  the  tub 
Is  filled  with  liquor  It  Is  poured  Into  a  cask,  and 
the  cask  Is  shipped  to  the  nearest  market.  Itin- 
erant peddlars  tramp  through  the  towns  and  vil- 
lages, bearing  a  pigskin  of  pulque  on  their  shoul- 
ders and  selling  drinks  to  whosoever  Is  thirsty  and 
may  have  the  uno  centavo  (one  cent)  to  pay  for 
it.  When  fresh,  the  drink  Is  delightful  and  Innoc- 
uous. But  when  the  liquid  has  begun  to  ferment, 
it  is  said  to  generate  narcotic  qualities  which  make 
it  the  finest  thing  for  a  steady,  long-continuing  and 
thorough-going  drunk  which  Providence  has  yet 
put  within  the  reach  of  man.  Thousands  of  gal- 
lons of  pulque  are  consumed  In  Mexico  City  every 
twenty-four  hours,  and  the  government  has  en- 
acted stringent  laws  providing  against  the  sale  of 
pulque  which  shall  be  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
old.  The  older  It  grows  the  greater  the  drunk, 
and  the  less  you  need  drink  to  become  intoxicated, 

71 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

hence,  It  Is  the  aim  of  every  thirsty  Mexican  to 
procure  the  oldest  pulque  he  can  get.  In  every 
pulque  shop,  where  only  the  mild,  sweet  agua  miel, 
fresh  and  Innocuous,  Is  supposed  to  be  sold, 
there  Is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  always  on  hand  a  well 
fermented  supply,  a  few  nips  of  which  will  knock 
out  the  most  confirmed  drinker  almost  as  soon  as 
he  can  swallow  it. 

I  was  passing  a  pulque  shop  this  afternoon 
when  I  noticed  a  tall,  brawny  Indian  coming  out. 
He  walked  steadily  and  soberly  half  way  across  the 
street,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  fermented  brew 
within  him  took  effect  and  he  doubled  up  like  a 
jackknife,  then  and  there.  Two  men  thereupon 
came  out  of  the  self  same  doorway,  picked  him 
up  head  and  heels,  and  I  saw  them  sling  him,  like 
a  sack  of  meal,  into  the  far  corner  of  the  shop, 
there  to  lie,  perhaps  twenty-four  hours,  till  he 
would  come  out  of  his  narcotic  stupor. 

Riding  out  to  the  shrine  of  Guadeloupe  the 
other  afternoon,  I  passed  many  Indians  leaving 
the  city  for  their  homes.  Some  were  bearing  bur- 
dens upon  their  backs,  some  were  driving  donkeys 
loaded  with  goods.  Upon  the  back  of  one  donkey 
was  tied  a  pulque  drunkard.  His  legs  were  tied 
about  the  donkey's  neck  and  his  body  was  lashed 
fast  to  the  donkey's  back.  His  eyes  and  mouth 
were  open.     His  head  wagged  from  side  to  side 

72 


A   FRIEND  OF   MY   KODAK 


DULCE  VENDER 


Vivid  Characteristics  of  Mexican  Life 

with  the  burro's  trot.  He  was  apparently  dead. 
He  had  swallowed  too  much  fermented  pulque. 
His  compatieros  were  taking  him  home  to  save  him 
from  the  city  jail. 

The  Mexicans  have  a  legend  about  the  origin 
of  their  pulque.  It  runs  thus :  One  of  their  mighty 
emperors,  long  before  the  days  of  Montezuma's 
rule,  when  on  a  war  raid  to  the  south,  lost  his 
heart  to  the  daughter  of  a  conquered  chief  and 
brought  her  back  to  Tenochtitlan  as  his  bride. 
Her  name  was  Xochitl  and  she  gained  extraordi- 
nary power  over  her  lord,  brewing  with  her  fair, 
brown  hands  a  drink  for  which  he  acquired  a  pro- 
digious thirst.  He  never  could  imbibe  enough  and, 
when  tanked  full,  contentedly  resigned  to  her  the 
right  to  rule.  Other  Aztec  ladies  perceiving  its 
soothing  soporific  Influence  upon  the  emperor,  ac- 
quired the  secret  of  Its  make  and  secured  domestic 
peace  by  also  administering  It  to  their  lords.  Thus 
pulque  became  the  drink  adored  by  every  Aztec. 
The  acquisitive  Spaniard  soon  "caught  on"  and 
has  never  yet  let  go. 

The  one  redeeming  feature  about  the  pulque 
is  that  he  who  gets  drunk  on  It  becomes  torpid  and 
Is  Incapable  of  fight.  Hence,  while  It  Is  so  widely 
drunk,  there  comes  little  violence  from  those  who 
drink  It. 

But  not  so  Is  it  with  mescal,  a  brandy  distilled 

73 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

from  the  lower  leaves  and  roasted  roots  of  the 
maguey  plant.  It  is  the  more  high  priced  and 
less  generally  tasted  liquor.  Men  who  drink  it 
become  mad  and,  when  filled  with  it,  sharpen  their 
long  knives  and  start  to  get  even  with  some  real 
or  imaginary  foe.  Fortunately,  mescal  has  few 
persistent  patrons.  It  is  pulque,  the  soporific 
pulque  that  is  the  honored  and  national  beverage 
of  the  Mexican. 


74 


'^ 

p 

"                  .'• 

I'i 

'1 

\ 

«^Mil^r. 

r 

wiiffi 

Wi 

>:;    i''''-'«HP: 

IHH 

;^^H  O  -|^H^ 

1h      "^  '^H| 

■Mm  -^niiWrn 

^^m 

^^^^^^^B                      ^  mmP^SlJ 

^M 

w 

mH' '  "f  ^  .^^m^aiH 

wH 

in    '/^ 

1 

K                                         .r,.      .  j»JJr  — M 

VII 
A  Mexican  Bullfight 

Mexico  City, 
Sunday,  November  24th. 

A  FEELING  first  of  dIsgust  and  then  of  anger 
came  over  me  this  afternoon.  I  was  sitting  right 
between  two  pretty  Spanish  women,  young  and 
comely.  One  of  them  as  she  came  in  was  greeted 
by  the  name  Hennosa  Paracita  (beautiful  little 
parrot),  by  eight  or  ten  sprucely  dressed  young 
Spaniards  just  back  of  me.  The  spectators  with 
ten  thousand  vociferous  throats  had  just  been 
cheering  a  picador.  He  had  done  a  valiant  deed. 
He  had  ridden  his  blindfolded  horse  around  the 
ring  twice,  lifting  his  cap  to  the  cheering  multi- 
tude. He  was  applauded  because  he  had  managed 
to  have  the  belly  of  his  horse  so  skillfully  ripped 
open  by  the  maddened  black  bull,  that  all  its  vitals 
and  entrails  were  dragging  on  the  ground  while  he 
rode  it,  under  the  stimulus  of  his  cruel  spurs  and 
wicked  bit,  twice  around  the  ring  before  it  fell, 
to  be  dragged  out,  dying,  by  mules,  gaily-capari- 

75 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

soned  in  trappings  of  red  and  gold,  tugging  at  Its 
heels!  Paracita  clapped  her  pretty  bejeweled 
hands  and  cried  "bravo!"  And  so  did  the  scores 
of  other  pretty  women;  women  on  the  reserved 
seats,  elegant  ladles  and  pretty  children  In  the 
high-priced  boxes  on  the  upper  tiers!  The  howl- 
ing mob  of  thousands  also  applauded  the  gallant 
picador!  Would  he  be  equally  fortunate  and 
clever  and  succeed  in  having  the  next  horse  ripped 
open  so  completely,  all  at  one  thrust  of  the  bull's 
horns?    Qtiien  sabe? 

The  city  of  four  hundred  thousand  Inhabitants, 
capital  of  the  Mexican  Republic,  had  been  pro- 
foundly stirred  all  the  week  over  the  arrival  from 
Spain  of  the  renowned  Manzanlllo  and  his  band 
of  toreadors  (bullfighters).  Their  first  appear- 
ance would  be  the  opening  event  of  the  bullfight- 
ing season. 

Manzanlllo,  the  most  renowned  Toreador  of 
old  Spain !  And  bulls,  six  of  them,  of  the  most 
famous  strains  of  Mexico  and  of  Andalusia ! 
Senor  Limantour,  Secretary  of  State  for  Mexico, 
spoken  of  as  the  successor  to  President  Diaz,  had 
just  delighted  the  jeunesse  doree  by  publicly  an- 
nouncing his  acceptance  of  the  honor  of  the  Presi- 
dency of  the  newly  founded  "Bullfighting  Club." 
Spanish  society  and  the  Sociadad  Espahola  had 
publicly  serenaded  Don   Manzanlllo  at  his  hotel  I 

76 


#|l  ffP' 1*f»  «Wh  ^^  i#s?<  sPt"  ■,«««**»«► '*i^I^ 


SETTING    A    BANDERILLA 


V 

4 


A  Mexican  Bullfight 

A  dinner  would  be  given  in  his  honor  after  the 
event !  Men  and  women  were  selling  tickets  on 
the  streets.  Reserved  tickets  at  five  dollars  each, 
could  only  be  obtained  at  certain  cigar  stores. 
The  rush  would  be  so  great  that,  to  secure  a  ticket 
at  all,  one  must  buy  early.  I  secured  mine  on 
Thursday,  and  was  none  too  soon.  The  spectacle 
would  come  oft  Sunday  afternoon  at  three  o'clock, 
by  which  hour  all  the  churches  would  have  finished 
their  services,  and  the  ladies  would  have  had  their 
almuerzo,  and  time  to  put  on  afternoon  costume. 

By  noon  the  drift  of  all  the  street  crowds  was 
toward  the  bull  ring,  a  mile  or  two  out  near  the 
northwest  border  of  the  city.  All  street  cars  were 
packed  and  extra  cars  were  running;  even  all  car- 
riages and  cabs  were  taken,  and  the  cabmen  com- 
manded double  prices.  I  had  retained  a  carriage 
the  day  before.  At  the  restaurant  I  could  scarcely 
get  a  bite,  the  waiters  and  cooks  were  so  eager 
to  get  through  and  escape,  even  for  a  single  peep 
at  the  spectacle.  As  I  drove  out,  young  ladies 
were  standing  in  groups  at  the  gateways  of  many 
fashionable  residences  waiting  for  their  carriages 
to  take  them  to  the  ring.  As  I  approached  the 
arena,  the  throngs  upon  the  streets  and  sidewalks 
blocked  the  way. 

Hundreds  of  Indians  and  Mexicans,  mostly 
women,  had  set  up  temporary  eating  stands  along 

77 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  roadside.  Fruit,  tortillas,  steaming  broth  and 
meat  roasting  over  fires,  tempted  the  hungry. 
These  stands  would  feed  a  multitude.  It  was  early, 
but  the  city  fire  department  was  already  on  hand 
with  apparatus  to  extinguish  any  possible  blaze 
among  the  wooden  tiers  of  seats.  A  battalion  of 
mounted  police  sat  on  their  blood-bay  horses  at  in- 
tervals along  the  road,  their  gaudy  blue  and  gold 
uniforms  setting  off  effectively  their  dark  brown 
skins.  We  entered  a  large  gateway,  gave  up  half 
of  our  tickets,  and  then  passed  in  to  a  broad  flight 
of  steps.  We  ascended  to  the  tiers  of  seats  and 
chose  good  places.  Presently,  two  companies  of 
infantry  with  set  bayonets  also  entered  and  took 
up  their  positions.  Often  the  mob  becomes  so  mad 
with  blood-lust,  that  bayonets  are  needed  to  keep 
order,  sometimes  also  bullets. 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  set  time,  but  none 
too  early.  The  crowds,  all  well  dressed  on  this 
side,  every  one  of  whom  had  paid  five  dollars  for 
a  ticket,  kept  pouring  in.  Across  on  the  other 
side  swarmed  the  cheap  mob.  Behind  me  was  a 
row  of  young  Spaniards.  They  stood  up  and 
called  nicknames  to  all  their  friends  who  entered 
within  reach  of  their  vision.  They  cheered  every 
pretty  well  dressed  woman.  They  howled  like 
mad  when  the  band  came  in,  they  fairly  burst 
themselves  when,  at  last,  Manzanillo,  the  toreador, 

78 


TEASING    EL  TORO 


A  Mexican  Bullfight 

the  matadores,  picadores,  the  valiant  gold-laced 
company  of  bullfighters,  entered  and  marched 
around  the  ring. 

Manzanillo  sat  on  a  superb  Andalusian  charger 
which  pranced  and  threw  up  his  forefeet  as  though 
conscious  of  the  illustrious  character  of  his  master. 
Then  Manzanillo  dismounted  and  took  his  place, 
the  picadores  stationed  their  horses  on  either  side 
and  pulled  over  iheir  eyes  the  bandages  to  blind- 
fold them,  others  carrying  big  gold-embroidered 
red  shawls,  stood  all  attention,  the  band  struck  up, 
the  door  opposite  me  was  thrown  open  and  a  hand- 
some, black-brown  bull  trotted  in.  As  he  passed 
the  gate  he  received  his  first  attention.  Two  ro- 
settes of  scarlet  and  gold  ribbons  were  hooked 
into  his  shoulders,  with  steel  teeth,  enough  to  irri- 
tate him  just  a  little.  He  stood  there  amazed. 
The  crowd  cheered  him.  A  man  in  gold  lace 
promptly  flaunted  a  red  shawl  In  his  face.  He 
charged  it.  The  man  stepped  lightly  aside  and 
bowed  to  the  audience,  who  cheered  vociferously. 
"Bravo!  Well  done!"  Then  one  of  the  blind- 
folded horses  was  spurred  toward  the  bull.  The 
bull  was  dazed  and  angry.  He  charged  right  at 
the  horseman.  The  horseman  lowered  his  spear 
and  caught  the  bull  in  the  shoulder.  The  bull 
flinched  to  one  side.  The  audience  cheered  the 
picador,  but  the  bull  dexterously  turning,  charged 

79 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  horse  on  the  other  side,  and,  before  the  poor 
beast  could  be  turned,  drove  his  sharp  horns  into 
his  abdomen,  ripped  it  up  and  upset  the  rider  and 
horse  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  audience  now 
cheered  the  bull.  A  dozen  men  rushed  to  the 
rescue  and  dragged  the  picador  away.  The  horse 
lay  there  and  the  bull  charged  it  again,  and  again 
ripped  out  more  entrails.  The  audience  cheered 
the  bull,  and  the  bull,  encouraged  by  the  applause, 
took  another  turn  at  the  dying  horse.  Just  then 
a  dexterous  footman  slung  the  red  sheet  in  the 
bull's  face  and  he  turned  to  chase  it.  But  all  in 
vain!  Charge  the  red  vision  all  he  would,  he 
never  caught  anything  but  thin  air!  He  could 
never  catch  the  man. 

Then  the  bull  saw  another  horse  blindly  sidling 
towards  him,  for  though  blindfolded,  the  old 
horse  could  yet  smell  the  bull  and  the  blood,  and 
only  went  forward  under  the  pressure  of  sav- 
age spur  and  bit.  The  bull  stood  gazing  at 
the  horse  and  rider  a  moment,  then  he  charged 
right  at  them  with  head  down.  He  caught  the 
horse  in  the  belly  and  ripped  out  Its  entrails,  which 
dragged  on  the  ground,  while  the  brave  picador 
continued  to  ride  it  about,  and  sought  yet  again  to 
engage  the  attention  of  the  bull. 

But  the  bull  was  now  tired.  He  thought  of 
his  mountain  pastures  and  the  swett,  long  grass 

80 


THE  GARDENS   OF   CHAPULTEPEC 


A  Mexican  Bullfight 

of  the  uplands.  He  would  go  home.  He  would 
fight  no  more.  He  wanted  to  get  out,  he  wanted 
badly  to  get  out.  The  now  hissing  mob  scared 
him  worse  than  when  they  cheered.  He  ran  about 
the  ring  trying  all  the  locked  doors.  He  could  n't 
force  them.  Then  he  tried  to  climb  over  the  high 
wall,  to  jump  over  anyway.  He  was  frantic  with 
pathetic  panic.  But  shouting  men  stood  round  the 
parapet  and  clubbed  him  over  the  head.  So  he 
gave  up  and  returned  to  the  center  of  the  ring, 
panting,  his  tongue  hanging  out,  foam  dripping 
from  his  jaws.     He  was  altogether  winded. 

Now  was  Manzanillo's  opportunity.  He  car- 
ried a  small  purple  gold-fringed  scarf  over  his  left 
arm,  and  his  long,  straight  naked  sword  in  his 
right  hand.  He  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  bull. 
He  caught  its  eye.  He  waved  the  purple  banner. 
Almost  imperceptibly  he  approached.  The  bull 
stood  staring  at  him,  legs  wide  apart,  sides  pant- 
ing, tail  lashing,  head  down,  tired  but  ready  to 
charge.  Then,  quick  as  lightning,  Manzanillo 
stepped  up  to  the  bull,  straight  in  front  of  him, 
and  reaching  out  at  arm's  length  drove  the  sword 
to  the  very  hilt  right  down  between  the  shoulder 
blades.  It  was  a  mortal  stroke,  a  wonderful 
thrust,  perfect,  precise,  fatal.  Only  a  master  of 
his  craft  could  do  just  such  a  perfectly  exact  act. 
And  as  quick  as  lightning  did  Manzanillo  step 
6  8l 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

aside,  fold  his  arms  and  stand  motionless,  not  ten 
feet  from  the  bull,  to  watch  him  die.  He  gave 
only  one  sweeping  bow  to  the  audience.  The 
Spaniard  is  a  connoisseur  In  all  the  delicate  and 
subtle  masterstrokes  in  this  duel  of  man  and  beast. 
Manzanillo  had  sustained  his  reputation  as  the 
greatest  living  bullfighter  of  old  Spain.  The 
nerve,  the  agility,  the  lightning-like  act — too 
quick  for  human  eye  to  follow — the  perfect  judg- 
ment of  time  and  distance  and  force,  all  these  he 
had  now  displayed.  The  vast  audience  broke  out 
into  one  simultaneous  "Bravo,"  rose  to  Its  feet  and 
then,  like  the  matador,  stood  silent  and  breathless 
to  watch  the  bull  die, — to  see  the  hot  blood  pour 
from  mouth  and  nostrils,  the  sturdy  thighs  and 
shoulders  shake,  the  powerful  knees  bend.  The 
nose  sank  to  the  dust,  the  knees  trembled,  the  bull 
rolled  in  the  sand,  quite  dead.  Manzanillo  drew 
out  his  reeking  sword.  Again  he  bowed  to  the 
vast  multitude,  and  no  human  being  ever  received 
a  more  overwhelming  ovation  than  did  he. 
Flowers  were  thrown  him  In  heaps.  Sometimes 
women  even  take  off  their  jewels  and  throw  them, 
and  kiss  the  hero  when  they  later  meet  him  on  the 
street.  So  great  Is  the  joy  of  the  blood-lust!  So 
has  the  frenzy  of  the  Roman  arena  descended  to 
some  of  Rome's  degenerate  sons.  Mules  In  gay 
red  and  gold  trappings  now  dragged  out  the  bull 

82 


MANZANILLO'S  FATAL  THRUST 


A  Mexican  Bullfight 

as  they  had  the  horse.     There  would  be  cheap 
stews  for  the  multilude  In  the  city  to-night. 

The  next  bull  was  jet-black,  big,  sturdy,  fero- 
cious. He  scorned  to  charge  or  gore  a  blind- 
folded horse,  but  he  chased  a  man  wherever  in 
sight.  Such  a  bull  is  according  to  the  Spanish 
heart  I  The  audience  cheered  him  wildly.  He 
ripped  up  three  or  four  horses  just  because  he  had 
to,  in  order  to  get  at  the  man  on  their  backs.  One 
of  the  horses  had  been  ripped  up  by  the  first  bull, 
but  his  dusty  entrails  had  been  put  back,  the  rent 
sewn  up,  and  under  cruel  spur  and  bit  he  had  been 
presented  to  the  second  bull  to  be  again  splendidly 
and  finally  ripped  wide  open,  ridden  around  the 
ring  by  his  bowing  rider,  bloody  entrails  dragging 
in  the  dust,  and  applauded  to  his  death  by  the 
blood-hungry  multitude !  The  second  bull  was 
game!  The  banderillas  were  placed  with  danger 
and  difficulty.  These  are  two  berlbboned  sticks 
tipped  with  steel  gaffs  that  are  jabbed  into  the 
bull's  shoulders,  adding  to  the  Irritation  of  the 
rosettes,  and  increasing  his  desire  for  revenge.  In 
the  first  bull  they  were  perfectly  planted  and  three 
pairs  set  in.  In  the  second  only  one  was  got  in  at 
first,  then  a  pair,  then  one  again.  Each  setting 
of  the  banderillas  is  a  dangerous  feat!  The  bull 
must  be  approached  from  the  front.  Just  as  they 
are  stuck  into  the  maddened  animal,  the  banderil- 

83 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

lador  must  step  aside.  He  must  be  quick,  very 
quick,  as  quick  as  the  toreador  In  planting  his  fatal 
sword  thrust.  And  not  Infrequently  the  banderil- 
lador  gets  tossed,  and  perhaps  gored  and  killed 
by  the  bull.  Hence  the  act,  well  done,  receives 
deafening  applause.  Despite  his  fierce  courage, 
this  splendid  black  bull  also  met  at  last  his  inevit- 
able fate,  beneath  the  perfectly  skillful  thrust  of 
Manzanlllo. 

The  third  bull  was  the  biggest  and  oldest  yet. 
Horses  were  ripped  up  by  him  In  exciting  succes- 
sion and  one  picador  was  caught  under  his  fallen 
horse  and  badly  bruised.  Nor  was  it  so  easy  to 
kill  this  bull.  The  matador  lost  a  trifle  of  his 
nerve.  The  sword  only  went  in  half  way.  It 
took  the  bull  some  time  to  bleed  internally  and 
die.  With  the  sword-hilt  waving  between  his 
shoulder  blades,  he  tried  to  follow  and  gore  the 
matador,  but  his  strength  began  to  fall.  He  stood 
still,  his  head  sank  down,  his  knees  bent,  be  knelt. 
And  the  vast  audience  stood  In  hush  and  silence 
to  watch  with  delighted  expectancy  the  final  on- 
coming of  death.  When  he  rolled  over  quite 
dead,  the  pretty  women  in  the  box  behind  me 
shouted  and  waved  their  dainty  hands  in  mad  de- 
light. 

The  fourth  bull  was  just  ushered  in  when  the 
brutality  and  crueltv   and   horror  of   it  all   quite 

84 


JUAREZ'  TOMB  AND  WREATHS 
OF   SILVER 


A  Mexican  Bullfight 

nauseated  me.  I  rose  to  go.  My  friend  told  our 
neighbors  that  I  was  "111."  Otherwise  they  could 
not  have  understood  my  leaving  in  the  midst  of 
the  fight.  Afterward  I  heard  it  declared  to  be 
a  very  fine  performance,  for,  as  a  little  Mexican 
boy  exclaimed  delightedly,  "they  killed  six  bulls 
and  thirteen  horses!     It  was  magnificof" 

As  I  sat  and  looked  out  on  the  ten  thousand 
faces  of  all  classes,  rich  and  poor,  all  radiant  and 
frenzied  with  the  blood-lust  and  the  joy  of  seeing 
a  creature  tortured  to  the  very  death,  and  then 
heard  the  clang  of  the  multitudinous  church  bells, 
calling  to  Vesper  services,  even  before  the  spec- 
tacle was  ended,  I  realized  that,  surely,  I  was 
among  a  different  people,  bred  to  a  different  civil- 
ization from  my  own;  a  civilization  still  mediaeval 
and  still  as  cruel  as  when  the  Inquisition  sated  even 
fanaticism  with  its  cultivated  passion  for  blood! 
I  also  shame  to  say  that  I  met  to-night  two  young 
American  ladies,  school  teachers  at  Toluca,  going 
home  with  two  bloody  banderillas  plucked  from 
one  of  the  bulls — "Trophies  to  keep  as  souvenirs." 
They  "Had  so  much  enjoyed  the  fine  spectacle." 
Thus  do  even  my  countrywomen  degenerate,  thus 
is  the  savage  aroused  within  their  hearts ! 


8s 


VIII 

From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

MiCHOACAN,  Mexico, 

No'vember  25th. 

After  the  bullfight  we  had  difficulty  in  find- 
ing a  cocha  to  take  us  to  the  railway  station.  In 
fact,  we  could  not  get  one.  We  were  compelled 
to  depend  upon  cargadores,  who  carried  our  trunks 
and  bags  upon  their  backs,  while  we  jostled  along 
the  crowded  sidewalks.  And  here,  I  might  re- 
mark, that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  right-of-way 
for  the  footfarer  on  either  street  or  sidewalk. 
You  turn  to  the  right  or  left,  just  as  it  may  be 
most  convenient  and  so  does  your  neighbor.  You 
cross  a  street  at  your  peril,  and  you  pray  vigor- 
ously to  the  saints  when  you  are  run  down. 

We  left  Mexico  City  about  fiv^e  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  taking  the  narrow  gauge  National  Rail- 
way to  Acambaro  and  Patzcuaro,  where  horses 
and  a  guide  were  to  be  awaiting  us,  and  whence 
we  would  cross  the  highlands  of  the  Tierra  Fria 
and  finally  plunge  Into  the  remote  depths  of  the 
Tierra   Caliente,   along   the   lower  course   of  the 

86 


THE  TREE  WHERE  CORTEZ  WEPT 
EL  NOCHE  TRISTE 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

Rio  de  las  Balsas,  where  it  forms  the  boundary 
line  between  the  states  of  Michoacan  and  Guererro, 
on  its  way  to  the  Pacific. 

As  we  departed  from  the  city,  we  passed 
through  extensive  fields  of  maguey,  and  began 
climbing  the  heavy  grade  which  would  lift  us  up 
some  four  thousand  feet  ere  we  should  descend 
into  the  valley  of  Toluca,  more  lofty,  but  no  less 
fertile  than  the  basin  of  Anahuac.  Before  we 
crept  up  the  mountain  very  far,  darkness  de- 
scended precipitately  upon  us,  for  there  is  no  twi- 
light in  these  southern  latitudes. 

We  were  at  Acambaro  for  breakfast,  and  all 
the  morning  traversed  a  rolling,  cultivated,  tim- 
bered country  much  like  the  blue  grass  counties 
of  Greenbrier  and  Monroe  in  West  Virginia. 
Here  we  travelled  through  some  of  the  loveliest 
landscapes  in  all  Mexico.  This  is  a  region  of 
temperate  highlands  amidst  the  tropics,  so  high  in 
altitude  lies  the  land, — seven  to  eight  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  There  was  much  grass  land 
and  there  were  wheat  and  corn  fields  many  miles 
in  area.  Here  and  there  crops  were  being  gath- 
ered, and  yokes  of  oxen  were  dragging  wooden 
plows,  the  oxen  pulling  by  the  forehead  as  in 
France.  Several  successive  crops  a  year  are  raised 
upon  these  lands.  No  other  fertilization  is  there 
than  the  smile  of  God,  and  these  crops  have  here 

87 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

been  raised  for  a  thousand  years — Irrigation  being 
generally  used  to  help  out  the  uncertain  rains. 
We  passed  vineyards,  and  apple  and  peach  and 
apricot  orchards,  forests  of  oak  and  pine,  several 
lakes,  Cultzeo  and  Patzcuaro,  being  the  largest  of 
them — lakes,  twenty  and  thirty  miles  long  and  ten 
to  twenty  wide.  Never  yet  has  other  craft  than 
an  Indian  canoe  traversed  their  light  green,  brack- 
ish waters. 

These  high  upland  lakes  of  Mexico  are  the 
resting-places  of  millions  of  ducks  and  other  water- 
fowl, which  come  down  from  the  far  north  here 
to  spend  the  winter  time.  It  Is  their  holiday  sea- 
son. They  do  not  nest  or  breed  hi  Mexico.  They 
are  here  as  migratory  winter  visitors.  Mexico  is 
the  picnic  ground  of  all  duckdom.  On  Lakes 
Tezcoco,  Xochlmllco  and  Chalco,  near  to  Mexico 
City,  the  destruction  of  the  wearied  ducks  is  an 
occupation  for  hundreds  of  Indians,  the  birds 
being  so  tired  after  their  long  flight  from  sub- 
Arctic  breeding  grounds,  that  It  is  often  many 
days  before  they  are  able  to  rise  from  the  water, 
when  once  they  have  settled  upon  it.  The  Indians 
paddle  among  them  with  torches  or  In  the  moon- 
light, and  club  them  to  death,  or  gather  them  in 
with  nets  or  even  by  hand,  so  easy  a  prey  do  they 
fall. 

For  many  miles  our  train  skirted  these  lovely 
88 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

sheets  of  water,  and  so  tame  were  the  waders  and 
swimmers  along  the  shores  that  they  rarely  took 
to  flight,  but  swam  and  dove  and  flapped  their 
wings  and  played  among  the  sedges  as  though  no 
railroad  train  were  roaring  by.  Among  them  I 
looked  for  the  splendid  scarlet  flamingo  and  rose- 
ate spoonbill,  but  happened  to  see  none,  although 
they  are  said  often  to  frequent  these  shallow 
waters,  but  pelicans,  herons  and  egrets  I  saw  In 
thousands. 

The  first  town  of  Importance  we  reached,  after 
leaving  Acambaro,  was  Morelia,  a  city  exceeding 
thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  the  capital  of  the 
important  state  of  Michoacan.  The  people  gath- 
ered at  the  Incoming  of  the  train  were  rather 
darker  In  color  than  those  In  Mexico  City,  which 
seemed  to  indicate  a  greater  Infusion  of  Indian 
blood.  Here  we  first  beheld  a  number  of  priests 
garbed  In  cassock  and  shovel  hat,  a  costume  now 
forbidden  by  the  laws. 

At  this  station,  too,  we  came  upon  a  curious 
tuber  which  seemed  to  be  cousin  to  the  yam  and 
the  Irish  potato.  The  Indians  bake  It  and  hand 
it  to  you  bursting  with  mealy  whiteness  of  a  most 
palatable  taste.  The  Mexican  eats  as  opportunity 
occurs,  and  as  opportunity  is  Incessantly  offered, 
he  is  always  eating.  At  least,  so  It  Is  with  the 
Indian.     Cooked  food  and  fruits  are  sold  at  all 

89 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

times  along  the  streets  and  highways  everywhere. 
The  hot  tamale,  and  a  dozen  kindred  peppered 
and  scorching  foods,  are  always  to  be  had.  Or- 
anges and  lemons,  limes  and  pomegranates,  figs 
and  bananas,  cocoanuts  and  sugar  cane  are  sold 
at  a  price  so  low  that  the  poorest  can  buy.  Can- 
died fruits  are  abundantly  eaten,  and  delicious 
guava  paste  is  handed  up  to  the  car  windows  on 
little  trays. 

Our  sleeper  went  only  as  far  as  Morelia. 
After  that  we  traveled  in  the  day  coach.  Our 
traveling  companions  had  been  three  or  four  Mex- 
ican gentlemen,  who  kept  closely  together,  inces- 
santly smoking  cigarettes.  In  the  day  coach  we 
were  now  traveling  with  people  of  the  country- 
side. A  tall,  white-haired  priest,  in  cassock  and 
shovel  hat,  with  bare  feet  thrust  into  black,  leath- 
ern sandals,  sat  just  In  front  of  me.  A  large,  brass 
cruci^,  six  or  eight  inches  long,  hanging  about 
his  neck,  suspended  by  a  heavy  brass  chain,  was  his 
only  ornament.  He  was  much  Interested  In  my 
kodak  and  watched  me  taking  snap  shots  at  the 
flying  panorama.  He  indicated  that  he  would 
like  to  have  his  own  picture  taken,  arranging  him- 
self gravely  for  the  ordeal.  No  sooner  had  I 
snapped  the  padre  than  several  of  his  parishioners 
moved  up  and  intimated  that  they  also  would  be 
pleased  to  have  me  take  their  portraits.    The  film 

90 


o 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

on  which  these  pictures  were  taken  was  afterwards 
lost,  or  I  should  be  able  to  present  these  friends 
to  you. 

As  we  drew  near  Patzcuaro,  the  car  filled  up, 
and  among  the  incomers  were  a  number  of  pretty 
senoritas  of  high-class  Spanish  type.  Their  skins 
were  fair,  their  facial  outlines  were  softly  moulded 
and  their  large  dark  eyes  were  lustrous  beneath 
their  raven  hair.  Most  of  the  ladies  smoked  cig- 
arettes, for  every  car  is  a  smoking  car  in  this 
Spanish-Indian  land.  Very  few  Indians  rode  upon 
the  train.  The  railway  is  too  expensive  a  mode  of 
traveling  for  them. 

It  was  past  the  midday  hour  when  we  came  to 
Patzcuaro,  a  city  of  perhaps  ten  thousand  souls. 
For  many  miles  we  had  followed  the  shores  of  the 
lake  of  that  name.  Far  across  the  light  green 
waters  I  noted  many  islands.  Upon  one  of  these 
stands  the  Mission  Church,  where  is  preserved  the 
famous  altar  painting  supposed  to  be  by  Titian — 
a  picture  so  sacred  that  it  has  tarely  been  looked 
upon  by  white  men,  much  less  by  a  heretic  gringo. 
I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  voyage  across  the  lake 
and  see  the  precious  painting,  despite  the  jealous 
care  with  which  the  Indians  are  said  to  guard  it, 
but  the  hurry  of  travel  has  made  this  impossible. 

A  crowd  of  almost  pure  Indians  was  gath- 
ered to  meet  the  train.    They  watched  us  closely, 

91 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

while  we  bargained  for  our  trunks  and  bags  to  be 
carried  upon  the  backs  of  eager  cargadores  two 
miles  up  the  long  hill  to  the  town.  We  passengers 
entered  an  antique  tram  car,  drawn  by  six  mules. 
It  was  packed  to  suffocation,  most  of  the  occupants 
being  ladies  of  the  city,  who  had  ridden  down  to 
see  the  train  arrive  and  were  now  riding  back 
again.  Among  them  sat  one  whose  cracking  face, 
I  was  told,  disclosed  leprosy,  a  disease  here  not 
uncommon.  Not  many  gringos  visit  Patzcuaro, 
and  our  strange  foreign  clothing  and  unknown 
speech  were  matters  of  curious  comment.  Our 
mules  clambered  up  the  hill  at  a  gallop,  urged  by 
a  merciless  rawhide.  We  halted  finally  before  a 
quaint  and  ancient  inn.  La  Coloma.  Through  a 
big  open  doorway,  into  which  a  coach  might  drive, 
penetrating  a  high,  white  wall,  we  passed  to  an  ill- 
paved  interior  courtyard,  where  our  host,  the  land- 
lord, greeted  us  with  formal  ceremony.  He  then 
led  us  up  a  flight  of  stone  steps  to  a  wide,  stone- 
flagged  piazza  running  round  the  interior  of  the 
court.  We  were  there  given  rooms  opening  off 
this  open  corridor,  each  door  being  ponderously 
locked  with  a  big  iron  key.  I  had  scarcely  reached 
my  quarters  before  the  cargadore  brought  in  my 
trunk.  He  had  carried  it  two  miles  upon  his  back 
in  almost  as  quick  time  as  we  had  traveled  in  the 
six-mule  car.     I  paid  him  twenty-five  cents  (Mex- 

92 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

ican)  for  this  service  (ten  cents  in  United  States 
money) .  He  bowed  with  gratitude  at  my  liberal 
fee. 

The  inn  faces  upon  a  wide  plaza  around  which 
are  many  ancient  stone  and  adoby  buildings,  for 
Patzcuaro  is  an  old  city  and  was  the  chief  Taras- 
con  town  before  Cortez  and  his  conquestedores 
made  it  the  capital  of  a  Spanish  province.  On  one 
side  of  the  plaza  is  a  large  and  towered  church, 
while  beside  it  stand  the  extensive,  crumbling  walls 
of  a  dismantled  convent.  Upon  the  opposite  side 
are  many  little  shops,  and  upon  the  other  two 
are  inns  of  the  city  with  their  rambling  court- 
yards, within  which  gather  and  disperse  constantly 
moving  streams  of  horsemen,  mule  drivers  and 
pack  beasts.  Patzcuaro  is  the  gateway  through 
which  a  large  commerce  is  borne  by  thousands  of 
pack  animals  and  Indian  carriers  to  all  the  country 
in  the  southwest,  even  to  La  Union  upon  the  Pa- 
cific, a  hundred  miles  away.  Until  recently, 
through  here  also  passed  a  large  portion  of  the 
traffic  which  crossed  the  Rio  de  las  Balsas  and  the 
Cordilleras  to  Acapulco. 

My  companions  for  the  journey  are  three. 
There  is  "Tio,"  as  we  have  familiarly  named  him, 
who  is  leader  of  our  company.  He  is  a  giant- 
framed  mountaineer  of  the  middle  west,  who  has 
spent  a  life-time  in  prospecting  the  Rocky  Moun- 

93 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

tains  and  the  Cordilleras  from  Canada  to  Central 
America.  Like  all  those  of  that  fast  disappearing 
race,  the  lone  prospector,  he  is  visionary  and  san- 
guine of  temperament,  and  a  delightful  companion 
for  a  plunge  among  the  wild  and  lonely  regions 
of  the  Cordilleras.  His  imagination  is  eternally 
fired  by  the  ignes-fatui  of  mineral  wealth,  and  he 
has  discovered,  exploited  and  lost  a  hundred  for- 
tunes with  no  lessening  of  the  gold-silver-copper 
hunger  which  incessantly  gnaws  his  vitals.  His 
muscles  are  of  iron,  his  voice  is  deep  and  resonant. 
Kindly  by  nature,  his  solitary  life  has  made  him 
reticent  and  self-contained.  Only  incidentally  do 
I  learn  of  his  past.  A  slight  scar  upon  the  back 
of  his  right  hand  is  all  that  witnesses  the  smash- 
ing of  a  mescal-'miuri'a.ttd.  Indian  who  once  went 
up  against  him  with  murderous  two-bladed  cuch- 
illo;  a  bullet  graze  upon  his  brow  is  his  only  ref- 
erence to  a  duel-to-the-death,  where,  it  is  whis- 
pered, the  black  eyes  of  a  sehorita  were  once  in- 
volved. Grim  and  rugged  and  silent  he  declares 
himself  to  be  a  man  of  peace,  and  none  there  are 
who  care  to  disturb  this  tranquility.  But  despite 
his  austerity,  Tio  has  a  weakness.  He  is  not  a 
little  vain  of  his  mastery  of  the  idiomatic  intri- 
cacies of  the  Iberian  tongue.  Nothing  delights 
him  more  than  to  dismay  a  humble  peon  by  the 
sonorous  bellowing  of  a  salutation  put  in  vernac- 

94 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

ular  Spanish  or  Tarascon.  He  rides  beside  me 
and  acquaints  me  with  the  history,  geography  and 
probable  mineral  riches  of  the  land  we  traverse. 

Then  there  is  "El  Padre"  as  we  call  him,  who 
joins  our  party  as  our  guest  and  for  the  pleasure 
and  profit  of  seeing  the  wilder,  remoter  sections 
of  the  great  state  of  Michoacan.  He  is  virtually 
the  Presiding  Bishop  of  the  Baptist  Missionaries 
of  Mexico,  for  as  General  Secretary  he  visits  their 
different  stations,  handles  the  funds  sent  down  by 
the  General  Board  from  Richmond,  Virginia,  and 
does  invaluable  work  in  organizing  and  directing 
the  common  propaganda.  He  is  a  native  of  Ten- 
nessee, a  graduate  of  the  University  of  that  state, 
a  cultivated,  scholarly  man  who  speaks  classic  Span- 
ish and  is  master  of  local  dialects  as  well.  I  find 
him  greatly  respected  by  the  leading  Mexicans 
whom  we  meet,  and  withal  a  most  delightful  and 
intelligent  comrade.  He  is  an  adept  at  adjusting 
all  those  little  comforts  of  the  camp  which  only 
the  practiced  traveler  can  know,  and  by  his  bon- 
hommie  and  courtesy  wins  the  good  will  of  senor 
and  peon  alike,  while  even  the  Roman  padres  we 
fall  in  with  return  his  salutations  with  friendly 
greeting. 

Izus  Hernandes,  our  mozo,  completes  the 
party.  He  lives  in  Patzcuaro,  where  Scfiora 
Hernandes  brings  up  his  numerous  brood,  for  he 

95 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

is  father  of  eleven  living  children.  He  is  short 
and  slender,  with  dark  black  beard  covering  his 
face.  His  color  is  pale  brown,  and  Hke  most  of  the 
population  hereabouts,  he  has  in  his  veins  much 
Tarascon  blood.  His  manners  are  gentle  and  cour- 
teous, even  suave  to  Tio  and  El  Padre  and  myself, 
but  his  orders  are  sharp  and  peremptory  to  the 
horseboys  and  stablemen  of  the  ranchos  and  fon- 
das  where  we  stop.  He  has  spent  his  lifetime 
traversing  these  trails  between  Patzcuaro  and  La 
Union  and  Acapulco,  driving  bands  of  pack  ani- 
mals and  acting  as  escort  for  parties  of  Dons  and 
Donas  when  trusty  guards  have  been  in  demand. 
He  supplies  his  own  pack  animals,  is  past  master 
in  cinching  on  a  load,  and  makes  all  bargains  and 
pays  all  bills  in  our  behalf.  He  is  our  courier  and 
valet  of  the  camp  combined.  And  he  proves  him- 
self worthy  of  his  hire — two  silver  pesos  (80  cents 
United  States)  per  day — for  he  never  fails  us 
throughout  the  trip. 

Our  horses  have  been  picked  with  care  and 
newly  shod.  Tio  bestrides  a  mettlesome  white 
mare,  while  El  Padre  rides  a  chestnut  sorrel,  lean 
and  toughened  to  the  trail  and  gaited  with  giant 
stride,  a  famous  horse  for  fatiguing  days  of  moun- 
tain travel.  For  myself  has  been  reserved  the 
choicest  of  the  mount,  an  iron-limbed  black  mule — 
the  mule  is  the  royal  and  honored  saddle-beast  in 

96 


IZUS  AND   EL   PADRE 


From  Pullman  Car  to  Mule-back 

all  Spanish  lands — a  beast  well  evidencing  Isus'  dis- 
cerning choice. 

Our  coming  being  expected,  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  our  further  journey  to  the  South. 
Our  mozo  was  awaiting  us  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
Fonda  Dlllgencia  with  the  four  saddle-beasts  and 
two  pack  animals,  a  black  bronco  and  a  stout 
white  pack  mule.  We  carried  snug  folding  cots, 
which  rolled  up  Into  compact  bundles,  and  extra 
food  against  short  rations,  when  we  should  reach 
the  borders  of  Guerrero.  We  are  provided  with 
Immense  Mexican  sombreros,  of  light  woven  straw, 
which  cost  us  fifteen  centavos  apiece,  the  high, 
peaked  crown  and  wide-reaching  brim  protecting 
head  and  neck  completely  from  the  sun. 

We  have  with  us  heavy  clothing  and  flannels, 
for  our  journey  along  the  highlands  of  the  Tierra 
Fria,  and  also  the  thinnest  of  linen  and  wool  gar- 
ments to  save  us  from  the  scorching  sun,  when  we 
descend  into  the  hot  levels  of  the  Tierra  Caliente. 
I  have  purchased  a  pair  of  immense  Mexican  spurs 
and  my  mule's  mouth  Is  choked  with  a  mass  of 
wicked  Iron,  calculated  to  break  the  jaw  with  little 
effort,  should  I  pull  hard  enough  on  my  rawhide 
bridle  rein.  A  rawhide  goad  hangs  upon  one  side 
of  my  saddle-pommel  and  my  long  barreled  Colt's 
revolver,  loaded  and  ready  for  Instant  use,  hangs 
on  the  other.     We  are  all  armed  and  our  mozo 

7  97 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

has  a  formidable  and  ancient  sword  strapped  along 
the  left  saddle-side  beneath  his  leg. 

We  dined  in  the  low-ceilinged  eating  hall  of 
the  Colonia,  upon  a  well-served  dinner  of  boiled 
rice,  boiled  chicken,  yams  and  peppers,  and  cups 
of  strong  black  coffee,  drunk  with  sugar,  but  no 
milk.  Our  city  clothes  are  left  behind  in  a 
room,  the  rent  of  which  we  have  paid  a  fortnight 
in  advance,  and  the  large  iron  key  of  which  we 
take  along. 

Our  foreign  looks  and  ways  attracted  much 
attention  in  the  town.  A  crowd  gathered  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  fonda  to  see  us  off.  Our  coming 
and  our  going  were  events.  Nor  was  it  altogether 
a  simple  matter  to  pack  our  equipment  safely  and 
balance  it  properly  upon  the  beasts.  But  Izus  was 
an  expert,  and  with  many  yards  of  palmetto  rope 
finally  cinched  fast  the  loads.  At  a  word  from  him 
the  pack  animals  trotted  forth  from  the  fonda's 
court,  he  following  behind,  while  we  brought  up 
the  rear.  "Adios,  adios,  seiiores,"  shouted  the 
crowd.     "Adios,  adios,"  we  replied. 

Our  animals  knew  the  road  perfectly.  They 
had  traveled  it  many  a  time  before.  We  wound 
and  twisted  through  narrow  streets,  we  passed 
several  wide  plazas,  and  then  turning  up  a  street 
wider  than  the  rest,  began  the  ascent  toward  the 
hills  which  lie  back  of  the  city. 

98 


IX 

A  Journey  Over  Lofty  Tablelands 

Ario,  Michoacan,  Mexico, 

November  26th. 

As  WE  wound  higher  and  higher  toward  the 
summit  of  the  hills,  the  town  nestled  below  us  half- 
hidden  among  umbrageous  trees,  and  groves  of 
orange  and  apricot  and  fig,  while  stretching  beyond 
it,  toward  the  northeast,  lay  the  light  green  ex- 
panse of  lovely  Lake  Patzcuaro.  The  panorama 
before  me  as  I  turned  in  my  saddle  to  gaze  upon 
it,  presented  a  vista  of  wood  and  water,  of  fertile, 
cultivated,  well  populated  country,  delighting  the 
eye  on  every  hand.  We  were  traversing  a  land 
enjoying  one  of  the  most  salubrious  climates  of 
the  world. 

We  had  started  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  before  we  had  ridden  many  miles  the 
shadows  began  to  creep  across  the  landscape,  and 
then,  sudden  as  the  drop  of  a  curtain,  down  fell 
the  fullness  of  the  night.  This  absence  of  twilight 
is  always  a  perpetual  surprise  to  me.  I  do  not  yet 
become  used  to  this  immediate  extinction  of  the 

99 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

day.  The  sudden  banishment  of  the  sun  did  not 
cause  me  uneasiness,  however,  despite  the  fright- 
ful condition  of  the  labyrinthine  paths  along  which 
we  threaded  our  way,  for  the  moon  was  at  its  full. 
It  shone  with  the  splendor  and  potency  which  our 
altitude  and  tropical  latitude  assured.  We  were 
more  than  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  and 
rising  higher  at  every  league.  The  thin,  trans- 
lucent atmosphere  gave  to  the  moon  a  wonderful 
quality  of  illumination.  It  shone  white  and  radi- 
ant, with  a  brilliance  which  permitted  the  reading 
of  a  newspaper  with  ease.  The  landscape,  the 
wide  expanses  of  cultivated  fields,  the  thousands 
of  acres  of  corn  and  wheat  and  rolling  grass  land, 
the  dense  copses  and  thorny  vine-woven  thickets,] 
the  miles  of  maguey  plantations,  the  orchards  ofj 
apples,  of  apricots,  of  lemons  and  of  limes,  layj 
Illuminated  and  distinct  in  the  strange  white  light,'\ 
revealed  with  almost  the  same  vividness  as  in  the 
day.  Only  the  shadows  were  dark,  were  sharp 
and  black  and  solid.  For  several  miles  we  rode 
through  forests  of  oaks  and  pines,  our  little  cara- 
van appearing  and  disappearing  into  the  blackness 
of  the  shadow  and  then  into  the  lightness  of  moon- 
beam, in  perpetual  hide  and  seek.  We  passed  mul- 
titudes of  pack  beasts,  in  droves  of  a  score  or  more, 
generally  led  by  a  bell-mare,  and  followed  by  two 
or  three  'cherros  in  z^rape  and  flapping  sombrero, 

TOO 


THE   HIGHWAY  TO  THE   PACIFIC 


A  Journey  Over  Lofty  Tablelands 

as  well  as  many  burros,  these  generally  driven  by 
Indians.  Here  and  there,  we  came  upon  a  blazing 
fire  by  the  wayside,  where  were  camping  for  the 
night  the  cargadores,  roasting  tortillas  and  boiling 
frijoles,  or  wrapped  in  their  zerapes,  their  chins 
between  their  knees,  asleep  before  the  flickering 
embers. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  white  walls  of 
Santa  Clara  gleamed  before  us.  We  saw  a  long 
paved  street,  ending  in  a  little  plaza  filled  with 
great  anciently-planted  trees.  Along  the  street 
were  only  high,  bare,  white,  adoby  walls,  rarely  the 
glimmer  of  a  light  shone  through  a  small  and 
high-up  window.  Midway  along  this  street,  we 
turned  into  a  wide  doorway  and,  passing  through 
the  low  encircling  building,  entered  a  large  stone- 
paved  courtyard.  The  backs  of  thirty  or  forty 
pack  mules,  from  the  lowlands  of  the  Pacific,  were 
here  being  unloaded  of  cocoanuts,  and  salt  and 
dried  palm  leaves  for  rope  and  mat-making. 
Drivers  and  stableboys  were  swearing  melodiously 
in  Spanish  and  Tarascon.  There  was  everywhere 
great  stir  and  nobody  paid  us  the  slightest  heed. 
We  halted  and  dismounted.  Our  mozo  Izus,  took 
charge  of  our  animals.  A  swarthy,  burly  Mexican 
bade  us  put  our  personal  belongings  in  a  little 
room,  where  was  also  soon  set  our  baggage.  He 
then  locked  the  door  and  gave  us  a  big  iron  key 

lOl 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

as  evidence  of  possession.  In  another  house, 
further  along  the  street,  we  found  an  old  Indian 
dame  who  gave  us  boiled  rice,  peppers,  and  a  dish 
of  stewed  chicken,  setting  before  us  cups  of  boiling 
hot  water  and  a  small  earthen  pitcher  of  black, 
strong  essence  of  coffee.  A  couple  of  spoonfuls  of 
this,  put  into  the  water,  gave  me  a  delightful  cup 
of  fragrant  drink,  and  a  lump  of  the  brown  native 
sugar  sweetened  it  perfectly.  This  method  of  mak- 
ing coffee  I  commend.  Every  housewife  in  Mex- 
ico roasts,  grinds  and  drips  through  little  flannel 
bags  her  own  coffee  essence.  She  keeps  it  alvv^ays 
on  hand.  There  is  always  hot  water  simmering 
on  the  clay  oven,  and  it  is  only  a  moment's  care 
to  provide  the  traveler  with  as  much  of  the  fra- 
grant, vivifying  drink  as  he  requires. 

In  another  house,  across  the  street,  we  were 
bedded  for  the  night.  A  single,  large,  high-ceil- 
inged  room  off  a  big,  airy  court  was  assigned  to  us. 
The  iron  bedsteads  were  narrow,  each  with  one 
thin  mattress  and  no  springs,  but  there  were  home- 
woven  blankets  to  roll  ourselves  in  and  in  the 
morning  basins  of  beaten  copper  were  brought  us 
to  wash  in,  with  water  poured  from  graceful 
ewers  of  like  metal;  evidences  of  the  survival 
yet  of  a  native  industry  for  which  this  region  and 
town  have  been  famous  ever  since  the  days  of 
Tarascon  dominion.     I  endeavored  to  buy  these 

102 


NEARING  ARIO 


A  Journey  Over  Lofty  Tablelands 

handsome  copper  utensils,  but  my  hostess  would 
take  no  price,  although  I  really  offered  her  a  great 
sum  In  my  eagerness  to  possess  them.  They  were 
heirlooms,  she  said,  and  too  precious  for  money 
to  avail. 

The  night  was  cold,  almost  frosty.  On  these 
high  tablelands,  a  mile  and  a  half  above  the  sea, 
the  radiation  of  the  sun's  heat  Is  rapid  and,  the 
year  round,  by  morning  the  thermometer  Is  usually 
close  to  thirty-nine  degrees  (Fahrenheit). 

We  were  up  betimes,  out  of  the  town,  and 
among  cultivated  fields  and  orchards  and  pine  and 
oak  woods  again,  before  the  sun  became  at  all 
oppressive. 

As  yet,  I  have  not  seen  many  birds  in  Mexico, 
only  the  waterfowl  along  the  lakes  and  a  few 
finches  in  the  thickets  along  the  way.  To-day  we 
have  traveled  In  company  with  many  ravens. 
Tame  and  companionable  they  are,  so  usual  is  the 
sight  of  mules  and  men  along  this  frequented  high- 
way. 

Santa  Clara  is  close  to  the  height  of  land. 
Seven  thousand  two  hundred  feet  above  the  sea, 
my  aneroid  declared,  and  from  that  altitude  we 
began  to  descend.  The  thirty  miles  to  Ario  is  one 
steady  decline,  a  gradual  fall  of  twelve  hundred 
feet. 

This  whole  country  hereabout  is  held  in  vast 
103 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

haciendas  of  thousands  of  acres,  and  is  chiefly 
owned  by  nonresident  landowners  who  rarely,  if 
ever,  visit  their  possessions,  but  trust  entirely  to 
overseers  to  manage  and  work  them  and  wring  an 
income  from  the  hapless  peon.  It  Is  a  land  of 
great  fertility.  Only  the  most  primitive  methods 
of  agriculture  are  employed,  and  work  Is  done  in 
the  most  inefficient  way.  Yet  huge  Incomes  are 
withdrawn  from  the  land,  and  spent  by  the  distant 
haciendado  In  his  city  home  in  Mexico,  or  in  Paris, 
or  Madrid.  These  lands  are  said  to  be  marketable 
(buyable)  at  about  ten  dollars  (Mexican)  per 
acre,  say  four  dollars  In  United  States  money.  As 
I  have  been  riding  along,  viewing  mile  after  mile 
of  this  superb  fertility  in  a  climate  temperate  all 
the  year  around,  I  have  pondered  much  on  what  a 
garden  it  might  have  been,  and  it  yet  may  be,  if 
ever  the  thrifty  American  shall  have  It  In  posses- 
sion. 

Toward  noon  we  began  to  gain  a  wider  view 
of  the  landscape  opening  before  us  toward  the 
south  and  west.  Our  altitude  was  steadily  lessen- 
ing and,  many  miles  distant,  seemingly,  there  was 
a  sudden  falling  away  of  the  land  to  profound  and 
indefinite  depths,  whence  came  the  impression  of 
tropical  verdure,  the  whole  expanse  backed  on  the 
horizon  by  blue  and  jagged  lines  of  lofty  mountain 
chains,  peaks  and  summits  which  sometimes  pierced 

104 


A  Journey  Over  Lofty  Tablelands 

the  zenith,  far  to  the  southwest.  They  were  the 
mighty  Cordilleras  of  Guerrero,  a  hundred  miles 
away  and  barring  from  view  the  Pacific  Ocean  just 
beyond.  On  a  day  wholly  clear,  it  is  said,  the 
snow-capped  cones  of  Colima  may  be  seen,  also, 
far  to  the  northwest,  but  gaze  as  we  might  we 
could  catch  no  glimpse  of  the  mighty  volcano. 

Thousands  of  cattle  are  raised  in  Mexico,  and 
we  passed  many  extensive  herds  being  driven 
toward  Patzcuaro.  They  were  urged  on  by  vocif- 
erous vaqueros,  swearing  musically  the  immense 
and  cumbrous  Spanish  oaths — yet  have  we  seen 
almost  no  milch  cows  and  the  few  we  saw  were 
those  gathered  in  a  corral  hard  by  a  wide  thatched- 
roofed  building,  known  as  a  "millc  ranch,"  an 
establishment  where  milk  is  gathered  and  shipped 
to  nearby  Arlo,  and  butter  and  cheese  are  made 
for  immediate  sale.  A  cross  upon  the  gable  de- 
noted it  to  be  under  the  protection  of  the  Virgin 
and  I  hope  assured  milk  unadulterated  to  its  pa- 
trons. From  my  saddle  I  caught  a  snap  shot  of 
the  ranch  and  send  you  the  pretty  picture. 

Our  road  now  showed  signs  of  being  in  better 
repair.  Finally,  the  maze  of  intricate  paths  along 
which  we  had  traveled,  coalesced,  and  the  ancient 
pavement  now  appeared  intact.  On  either  hand, 
tall  wide-spreading  ash  trees  arched  over  the  per- 
fect road,  carven  stone  benches  stood  beneath  them, 

105 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

and  we  found  ourselves  entering  the  important 
town  of  Ario.  It  is  a  place  of  more  than  five  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  the  county  seat  of  the  District, 
the  home  of  the  Jefe  Politico  (the  "political 
chief,"  mayor,  governor,  boss  and  judge),  through 
whose  iron-handed  rule  the  central  government  of 
Diaz  maintains  its  firm  control. 

We  passed  an  ancient  church,  turned  to  the 
right,  entered  a  wide  doorway  and  halted  in  a  well- 
flagged  court,  in  the  center  of  which  a  fountain 
played  amid  many  flowering  plants  and  cages  of 
gay-feathered  birds.  It  was  the  hotel  Morelos. 
We  were  at  the  end  of  our  journey  in  the  High- 
lands. We  were  come  to  the  last  town  in  the 
Tierra  Fria.  We  were  on  the  brink  of  the  hot 
country,  the  Tierra  Caliente,  which  lay  stretched 
out  beyond  us,  one  short  day's  ride  and  below  us 
six  thousand  feet. 


1 06 


ft 


X 

A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence 

CUYACO,    MiCHOACAN,    MEXICO, 

No'vember  28th. 

Day  before  yesterday,  I  wrote  to  you  from 
the  curious  and  most  ancient  town  of  Ario,  but 
did  not  tell  you  all  I  might,  for  lack  of  time. 
The  city  stands  upon  the  verge  of  the  highlands, 
the  Tierra  Fria.  When  the  Spaniards  founded  It, 
several  centuries  ago,  they  placed  It,  with  strategic 
judgment,  at  that  point  which  would  enable  it  to 
command  the  several  trails  which  here  descend  to 
the  lowland  hot  country  and  lead  on  to  the  Pacific. 
They  placed  It  on  a  sloping  hillside,  as  was  their 
wont,  the  better  to  Insure  more  perfect  drainage, 
for.  In  those  days,  the  sanitary  engineers  of  old 
Spain  knew  better  how  to  assure  healthful  cities 
than  did  the  more  barbarous  English  and  the  less 
civilized  peoples  of  North  Europe. 

The  streets  of  Ario,  Including  every  alleyway, 
are  paved  with  sharp,  flat  stones,  set  on  edge, 
wedged  fast,  the  pavement  running  from  wall  to 

107 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

wall  with  a  low  stone  gutter  in  the  middle,  into 
which  open  all  the  drains  from  the  houses  on  either 
side.  Along  these  central  gutters  are  turned 
streams  of  ceaselessly  flowing  water,  keeping  the 
city  constantly  clean.  This  same  sort  of  street 
paving  and  drainage  prevails  wherever  possible  in 
every  Mexican  city.  To  every  town  of  consider- 
ation, water  is  carried,  anciently,  by  substantial 
and  often  costly  aqueducts ;  modernly,  through  pipe 
lines  carefully  laid.  During  the  centuries  of  Span- 
ish dominion  these  towns  and  cities  have  enjoyed 
a  supply  of  water,  pure,  abundant  and  free  to  the 
poorest  inhabitant.  There  are  no  water  rates  in 
Mexico.  Water  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  gifts 
of  God  to  which  every  man  and  beast  has  an  In- 
alienable right.  To  charge  for  it,  would  be  re- 
garded as  indecent  and  criminal.  At  the  Rancho 
Tejemanil,  I  offered  a  boy  a  centavo  for  bringing 
me  a  cup  of  cold  water.  He  refused  to  take  the 
coin  and  let  it  drop  upon  the  ground,  rather  than 
disgrace  himself  by  so  much  as  touching  it.  He 
turned  away,  the  coin  lying  where  it  fell.  I  apol- 
ogized to  the  master  of  the  house  for  having  done 
such  a  thing  as  offer  money  for  a  drink  of  water. 
He  answered,  saying,  "Si,  Si  Sehorl"  "Water  is 
indeed  a  gift  of  God,  for  which  no  man  should  be 
asked  to  pay." 

Although  Ario  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  ex- 
io8 


A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence 

tensive  forests  of  pine  and  oak,  yet  all  the  build- 
ings are  constructed  of  stone  and  cement,  mortar 
and  adoby  sundried  brick.  Indeed,  I  have  seen 
no  wooden  buildings  in  Mexico.  Consequently, 
there  pervades  Mexican  cities,  towns  and  even  vil- 
lages an  air  of  substantial  solidity,  quite  lacking  in 
American  wooden  towns. 

We  brought  letters  to  the  Jefe  Politico,  Sehor 
Don  Louis  Salchaga,  the  despot  of  the  county  and 
governor  of  the  iron  hand.  He  was  of  large  phy- 
sique; tall,  broad-shouldered,  firmly  knit,  with 
strong,  square  chin  and  commanding  eye.  His 
hair  was  gray  almost  to  whiteness ;  and  a  sweeping 
mustache,  re-enforced  the  general  impressiveness 
of  his  countenance.  He  was  clad  in  a  linen  undress 
military  uniform.  He  greeted  us  with  courtly 
Spanish  graciousness.  He  lives  in  a  two-storied 
stone  house  at  the  intersection  of  two  streets,  one 
of  which  leads  from  the  plaza.  Entering  through 
a  narrow  doorway,  at  the  side,  we  found  ourselves 
in  a  small,  cement-paved  room,  whose  stone  walls 
perhaps,  in  years  gone  by,  were  white  with  lime. 
Don  Louis  sat  at  a  table  scrutinizing  papers 
handed  him  by  a  dark-faced  youth,  who  stood  at 
his  side.  As  we  entered  he  hastily  signed  them, 
pushed  them  toward  the  clerk  and  rose  to  greet 
us.  We  learned  afterwards  what  the  documents 
were,  one  of  them  a  decree  settling  a  lawsuit,  the 

109 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

other  an  order  that  a  prisoner  be  transferred  from 
one  jail  to  another  some  miles  distant.  Such  an 
order  is  equivalent  to  a  death  warrant  In  this  land 
of  the  iron  hand.  On  the  way,  the  prisoner  is  said 
to  have  "tried  to  escape."  Necessarily  they  have 
been  forced  to  shoot  him.  He  is  buried  where  he 
falls. 

Don  Louis  pressed  us  to  dine  with  him  that 
evening  at  seven  o'clock,  having  first  politely  in- 
quired of  my  Spanish-speaking  friends  whether 
^'El  Senor  de  Estados  Unidos  tiene  diner oT* 
(Does  the  gentlemen  from  the  United  States  pos- 
sess money?)  My  friends  replied,  "Si,  Si,  Senor, 
mucho  dinero''  (Yes,  yes,  sir,  much  money;")  so 
we  were  asked  to  dine !  Probably,  of  all  people 
upon  this  planet  none  are  more  expert  In  extract- 
ing the  d'lnero  from  the  American  pocket  than  are 
the  gracious  Latins  of  the  south.  If  you  have 
money,  the  laws  open  wide  their  gates,  and 
all  government  officials  pat  you  on  the  back,  mean- 
while filching  just  a  little  from  your  unsuspecting 
pocket.  Even  the  Padre  and  the  Archbishop,  for 
the  proper  toll  of  gold,  will  shove  you  through  the 
quicker  to  the  gates  of  Paradise, 

At  seven  o'clock  it  was  dark;  the  stars  glowed 
big;  the  moon  was  not  yet  up.  The  city"  was 
ablaze  with  electric  lights.  ,-On  this  second  visit 
we  did  not  go  to  the  office  door,  but  entered  the 

no 


A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence 

wide-arched  entrance  for  man  and  beast.  We 
came  into  the  usual  square  patio,  where  waters 
plashed  and  tropical  plants,  many  of  them  in 
flower,  were  set  about  in  pots.  Don  Louis  greeted 
us  as  we  entered.  He  shook  hands  twice  all  round. 
He  led  us  across  the  court  to  the  far  side  and  into 
the  dining  room,  a  stone  and  cement-walled  cham- 
ber with  stone-flagged  floor,  wholly  without  adorn- 
ments. No  cloth  covered  the  plain  wooden  table. 
There  were  wooden  benches  along  the  wall  on 
either  side.  He  introduced  us  to  his  wife,  Dona 
Maria,  and  a  little  grandson  of  twelve  years.  The 
Doiia  was  tall,  for  a  Mexican  woman,  and  stout. 
Her  hair  was  white,  parted  in  the  middle  and 
brushed  smoothly  back  from  her  forehead.  She 
wore  a  light  muslin  of  white.  She  displayed  no 
jewels,  although  undoubtedly  possessing  them. 
Don  Louis  wore  an  immense  diamond  on  his  left 
middle  finger,  while  a  heavy  gold  chain  about  his 
neck  secured  a  big  gold  watch. 

Our  hostess  could  speak  no  English,  but  our 
host  said  he  could  read  it  and  understood  it 
"spoken  very  slow,  a  leetel;"  "but  the  grandson," 
he  said,  "had  a  tutor  who  was  teaching  him  Eng- 
lish,— a  young  man  who  had  lived  six  months  in 
Texas  at  San  Antonio  and  there  mastered  the 
northern  tongue !"  T|ie  meal  was  simple.  Avery 
good  soup,  redolent  of  garlic  and  peppers,  was 

III 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

followed  with  boiled  rice  and  stewed  chicken,  a 
duke,  some  really  delicious  preserved  guavas,  and 
cheese.  Then  cups  of  hot  water  and  the  small  pot 
of  coffee  essence  were  set  before  us,  and  we 
"coffeed"  the  water  to  suit  our  taste.  Just  when 
I  presumed  we  were  at  an  end,  a  servant  entered 
and  set  before  each  of  us  a  soup  plate  of  frijoles, 
with  a  big  spoon.  No  Mexican  considers  a  dinner 
properly  concluded  without  frijoles.  I  had  heard 
of  frijoles.  I  had  been  told  that  tortillas  and 
frijoles  were  the  staff  of  Mexican  life.  Now  the 
frijoles  were  before  me.  What  were  they?  My 
plate  contained  nothing  but  large  black  beans  float- 
ing In  a  thin  soup.  Perhaps  the  water  should  have 
been  poured  off,  I  do  not  know,  but  the  beans 
floated  and  the  liquor  was  thin.  And  Don  Louis 
ladled  them  Into  his  mouth  with  evident  relish! 
Vivan  frijoles! 

Don  Louis  had  resided  in  Ario  three  years. 
He  came  from  the  state  of  Toreon.  How  long 
would  he  remain  In  Ario?  He  did  not  know. 
Quien  sahe?  El  Presidente  Diaz  sent  him  here 
and  there,  Into  such  States  and  Districts  as  might 
be  in  need  of  a  trusted  lieutenant  whose  smile  was 
beneficent,  whose  hand  was  proven  steel. 

In  response  to  the  letters  we  bore,  Senor  Don 
Louis  gave  us  other  letters  to  the  chief  men  of  the 
Distrito — a  sort  of  circular  blanket  letter — and 

112 


V 


A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence 

hinted  that  he  would  go  part  of  the  way  with  us 
next  day,  which,  it  came  to  pass  he  did. 

Later  In  the  evening,  we  also  called  upon  Senor 
Don  Juan  Rodrigues  Tarco,  one  of  the  leading 
citizens  of  Ario,  a  lawyer  of  distinction,  and  who 
gave  us  letters  to  the  superintendent  of  the  Mina 
El  Puerto,  at  Churumuco,  on  the  river  Balsas. 
We  met  him  at  his  house.  Through  an  unpreten- 
tious doorway,  which  you  might  drive  through, 
we  came  Into  a  patio  with  many  flowering  plants 
and  palms  and  a  fountain.  Near  the  entrance,  on 
the  left,  we  entered  the  reception  room.  This  was 
a  large  high-ceilinged  chamber  with  handsomely 
tiled  floor,  palmetto  rugs,  modern  French  furniture 
of  cane,  walls  and  ceiling  frescoed  in  good  taste. 
There  were  some  good  pictures  on  the  walls,  a  new 
upright  piano,  and  several  mahogany  book-cases, 
whose  shelves  were  well  filled  with  books,  mostly 
In  Spanish,  a  few  In  French  and  English.  There 
were  porcelain  vases  and  handsome  modern  lamps. 
In  any  city,  this  would  be  regarded  as  a  room  of 
elegance,  and  to  think  that  every  luxury  we  looked 
upon  had  been  carried  more  than  fifty  miles  over 
frightful  trails,  upon  the  backs  of  men  and  mules ! 

El  Senor  was  a  small  dark  man,  alert  in  his 
movements  and  quick  of  mind,  a  gentleman,  hav- 
ing wide  knowledge  concerning  the  mineral  wealth 
of  Michoacan.  He  studied  In  the  Universities  at 
8  113 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Morelia  and  Mexico  City.  He  was  a  liberal  in 
politics,  and  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  modern 
Mexico,  her  mineral  resources,  the  awalcening  of 
her  industries,  the  growth  of  her  commerce.  He 
read  French  and  English,  but  spoke  only  Spanish. 
His  sons  were  away  at  school.  In  Toluca,  and  were 
learning  English.  It  is  the  great  desire  of  the 
young  men  of  Mexico  to  learn  to  speak  English, 
he  said.  The  language  is  already  taught  In  all  the 
principal  schools  of  Mexico.  It  Is  becoming  the 
language  of  business  and  commerce.  Before  many 
years  It  will  be  the  chief  language  of  Mexico,  and 
he  regretted  that  he  had  not  himself,  while  young, 
been  able  to  master  the  difficulties  of  the  tongue. 
The  ancient  inn,  the  Hotel  Morelos,  where 
we  put  up,  was  built  by  the  Spaniards  more  than 
two  centuries  ago.  When  we  arrived  we  rode  all 
our  six  mules  and  horses  right  through  the  big 
doorway  into  the  interior  paved  court.  Here  we 
turned  to  the  left  and  stopped  at  a  flight  of  stone 
stairs,  which  went  up  to  the  second  floor.  All  our 
baggage  was  carried  up.  A  large  square  room 
was  assigned  to  us.  The  walls  and  floor  were  of 
stone.  Three  narrow  iron  bedsteads  were  brought 
in,  each  having  good  woven  wire  springs,  a  thin 
mattress,  a  sheet,  a  blanket  and  a  small  pillow. 
Our  baggage  which  the  two  pack  mules  had  car- 
ried was  piled  in  a  corner.    A  table  and  three  com- 

114 


BEGGING  A  CENTAVO 


A  Provincial  Despot  and  His  Residence 

modes,  one  next  each  bed,  a  basin  and  pitcher  of 
enameled  iron,  and  four  chairs  completed  the  furni- 
ture, all  brought  in  after  our  arrival.  Big  double 
doors  opened  on  the  inner,  tile-floored  piazza,  over- 
looking the  patio,  and  casemented  windows  opened 
on  the  little  balcony  overlooking  the  street.  On 
our  left  was  another  similar  chamber,  then  round 
the  corner,  a  dining  room,  then  the  kitchen,  then 
another  large  room,  the  water-closet,  with  a  dozen 
seats  all  in  a  row,  used  freely  by  both  sexes  and 
no  lock  to  the  door !  A  whole  company  might  use 
it  simultaneously.  These  places,  in  Mexico,  are 
always  close  to  the  kitchen.  I  then  understood 
the  reason  for  constant  yellow  fever  in  less  lofty 
altitudes. 

In  the  town  is  a  very  old  and  large  church  with 
two  towers  and  a  great  clock.  Many  women  were 
kneeling  along  the  dusty  floor,  saying  their  ves- 
pers, when  we  entered. 

An  artistic  fountain  (whose  waters  are  said  to 
be  "Holy")  carved  with  lions'  heads,  plays  in  the 
center  of  the  plaza.  From  the  plaza  one  can  look 
over  the  lower  town  and  far  to  the  southwest,  over 
and  Into  La  Tierra  Caliente  (the  hot  country)  in 
which  we  now  are.  But  Ario  was  cool,  and  at 
night  I  slept  in  flannel  pajamas  under  two  blankets. 

We  were  early  astir!  and  enjoyed  an  excellent 
breakfast  of  coffee,  eggs,  chicken,  rice,  tortillas — 

IIS 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

in  fact,  I  may  remark  that  all  meals  I  have  thus 
far  eaten  off  the  beaten  track  of  travel  in  Mexico, 
are  quite  as  good  as  any  I  would  get  in  the  moun- 
tains of  West  Virginia.  We  had  the  two  pack  ani- 
mals loaded,  paid  our  bill,  about  forty  cents  each, 
(one  dollar  Mexican),  mounted  into  our  saddles 
and  filed  out  of  the  patio  into  the  street  by  seven- 
twenty  o'clock.  There  we  found  El  Jeffe  Politico 
superbly  mounted,  astride  an  elegant  saddle  with 
red  trappings  and  tassels.  He  was  accompanied 
by  six  cavalrymen  on  handsome  black  chargers,  in 
white  and  blue  uniforms,  and  a  company  of  foot 
soldiers  in  white  uniforms.  With  them  was  the 
prisoner,  a  tall  dark  man,  his  left  hand  in  a  sling 
and  his  right  hand  tied  behind  to  the  small  of  his 
back.  All  were  lined  up  awaiting  us,  to  be  our 
escort  till  late  in  the  day.  So  we  left  Ario  with 
dignity  and  pomp.  Whether  the  prisoner  would 
reach  the  day's  end  was  an  open  question. 


ii6 


THE  JEFE   POLITICO  AND   SOLDIERS 


XI 

Inguran  Mines — Five  Thousand  Six  Hun- 
dred Feet  Below  Ario 

Inguran  Mines, 

Nov  ember  29th. 

From  Santa  Clara  to  Ario  we  had  descended 
one  thousand  two  hundred  feet  in  thirty  miles. 
Now  we  were  again  going  down.  Each  mile  the 
country  grew  more  tropical,  A  fine,  rich,  rolling 
land  it  was,  a  soil  black  and  fertile;  guavas,  ba- 
nanas, coffee,  and  other  like  trees  began  to  be  com- 
mon along  the  road;  long  lines  of  monstrous  cen- 
tury-plants (maguey),  supplying  an  unfailing 
source  of  pulque,  bordered  the  roadway  on  either 
hand,  serving  as  impenetrable  hedges.  The  camino 
(road)  showed  signs  of  having  once  been  graded 
and  on  the  slopes  it  had  been  paved  from  curb  to 
curb.  Now,  as  yesterday,  all  the  road  is  gone,  or 
nearly  so.  Chasm-like  ruts,  vast  holes,  diverse  and 
many  paths,  give  the  traveler  a  varied  choice. 

^gain  we  met  hundreds  of  loaded  horses,  mules 
and  burros  and  scores  of  men  also,  bearing  crates 
and  he^vy  burdens  upon  their  backs.  They  were 
transporting    cocoanuts,    and    sugar,    and    brown 

117 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

ocean  salt,  and  palm  leaves,  and  tropical  products 
even  from  the  distant  Pacific  shores,  seven  or  eight 
days'  journey  across  the  gigantic  summits  of  the 
Cordilleras  far  to  the  southwest.  Also,  we  met 
trains  of  pack  mules  loaded  with  bags  of  concen- 
trated copper  ore  from  the  mines  of  this  great 
mineral  belt,  wherein  now  I  am. 

I  took,  many  kodaks  of  these  travelers  as  well 
as  of  passing  incidents.  The  Jefe  Politico  stopped 
his  whole  "army,"  or  would  have  done  so,  if  I 
had  not  waved  him  to  come  on,  for  the  picture  had 
been  taken  while  he  gave  his  order,  "Instante- 
mente,"  greatly  to  his  surprise. 

By  1 1  :oo  A.  M.,  we  reached  the  Rancho 
Nuevo,  and  entered  through  the  big  white  wall 
into  an  extensive  courtyard.  Here,  were  already 
several  pack  trains,  some  from  the  mines,  one 
going  on  beyond  the  Balsas  River  into  Guerrero. 
The  journey  is  from  dawn  to  midday.  Then  a 
halt  is  made,  the  packs  are  taken  off,  the  animals 
cooled, — led  slowly  about  by  boys, — then  later, 
the  saddles  and  aparejos  (Mexican  substitute  for 
pack-saddle)  are  taken  off  and,  finally  they  are 
watered,  and  given  "roughness"  (the  stripped 
dried  leaves  of  maize)  to  munch,  but  are  not  fed 
with  grain  till  night. 

Nothing  differentiates  the  Spanish-Indian  civ- 
ilization of  the  Mexican — mediaeval  and  Roman 

ii8 


TRANSFERRING  THE  PRISONER 


Inguran  Mines 

as  It  Is — from  the  twentieth  century  civilization  of 
our  own  modern  life,  more  than  the  attitude  of  the 
two  peoples  in  regard  to  the  suffering  of  dumb 
creatures.  This  I  see  everywhere  and  at  all  times. 
For  example:  The  Spanish-Mexican  knows  no 
other  bit  to  put  upon  his  horse  than  a  cruel  combi- 
nation of  rough  steel  bars  and  pinching  rings  suffi- 
cient to  break  the  jaw.  No  horse  nor  mule,  nor 
burro,  wearing  this  cruel  device,  will  pretend  to 
drink  a  drop  of  water,  nor  can  he,  until  It  is  re- 
moved. When  you  would  water  your  beast,  you 
must  dismount,  take  off  the  bridle  and  remove  the 
harsh  mass  of  Iron  from  his  mouth. 

Pack-animals  are  rarely  shod  and  are  often 
driven  until  their  hoofs  are  worn  to  the  quick  and 
their  backs  are  raw  and  the  flesh  Is  chafed  away 
even  to  the  bone.  When  they  can  travel  no  fur- 
ther they  are  turned  out  to  die  or  to  get  well  as 
best  they  may,  no  one  caring  what  may  be  their 
fate.  Horsemen  ride  the  ponderous  leathern  sad- 
dles of  the  country  In  the  fierce  heat  of  the  Tierra 
Caliente  as  well  as  upon  the  highlands  of  the 
Tierra  Fria.  And  no  one  would  think,  for  a  mo- 
ment, of  pausing  in  his  journey  for  the  mere  reason 
that  his  horse's  back  had  become  galled  and  sore, 
however  grievous  the  wounds  might  be.  The  gi- 
gantic spurs  with  their  big  blunt  points  are  perpet- 
ually rolled  with  pitiless  Insistence  and  an  Incessant 

119 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

jabbing   heel   motion   along   the   animal's  bloody 
sides. 

The  same  cruelty  which  we  saw  practiced  in 
the  bullring,  where  horses  were  ripped  open,  sewed 
up  twice  and  thrice  and  ridden  back  Into  the  arena 
to  be  ripped  open  just  once  more,  amidst  the  plaud- 
its of  vociferating  thousands,  is  equally  apparent 
along  this  traveled  highway  where  we  constantly 
meet  animals  overloaded  to  their  death,  animals 
turned  out  to  die,  animals  fallen  beneath  their  loads 
and  unable  to  rise. 

At  the  Rancho  Nuevo,  the  Spanish-Indian  ladies 
of  the  kitchen  promised  us  boiled  chicken  with  our 
rice  for  the  midday  meal.  One  of  the  ladies,  a 
stocky,  swarthy  Indian,  with  her  agile  son,  started 
in  hot  chase  after  a  long-legged  active  hen.  The 
bird  seemed  to  know  Its  fate.  Several  short-haired 
dogs  joining  in  the  pursuit,  the  hen  was  captured. 
The  mother  brought  It  to  me  holding  It  up  show- 
ing It  to  be  fat  and  well-fed,  and  then,  as  she  stood 
beside  me,  watching  a  caravan  of  pack  animals 
on  the  moment  just  entering  the  courtyard,  she 
calmly  broke  the  thigh  bone  of  each  leg  and  the 
chief  bone  of  each  wing,  so  that  escape  became 
impossible,  and  proceeded  right  then  and  there  to 
pick  the  chicken  alive.  She  was  evidently  uncon- 
scious of  any  thought  of  cruelty.  The  legs  and 
wings  were  broken  in  order  that  the  bird  might  not 

120 


COOLING  THE  HORSES— RANCHO   NUEVO 


Inguran  Mines 

run  or  fly  away.  It  was  picked  alive  as  a  matter 
of  course.  The  sentiment  of  pity  and  tenderness 
for  dumb  things  had  never  yet  dawned  upon  her 
mind.  The  fowl  destined  for  the  pot,  was  as  little 
considered  as  the  wounded  prisoner  with  his  wrists 
tied  tight  to  the  neck  and  back,  whom  Don  Louis' 
soldiers  that  day  were  "transferring"  to  another 
jail. 

Our  Jefe  Politico  had  been  joined  by  two  Span- 
ish (Mexican)  gentlemen,  managers  {superintend' 
entes)  of  haciendas  and  we  all  dined  together. 
We  had  the  hen  cooked  with  rice  and  then  frijoles, 
and  I  gave  them  of  my  precious  old  Bourbon, 
which — "La  agua  de  los  Estados  Unidos" — they 
pronounced  "mas  excellentemente"  than  their  own 
mescal. 

Here  we  rested  until  about  3  :oo  P.  M.,  when 
we  got  away  for  the  final  descent  into  La  Tierra 
Caliente.  We  came  down  very  gradually  for  about 
an  hour  and  then  found  ourselves  at  Agua  Sarpo, 
a  collection  of  a  few  huts  on  the  brink  of  the  pla- 
teau, whence  we  looked  out  over  an  aggregation  of 
mountain  peaks  and  ridges,  valleys  and  deep  plains, 
much  as  though  you  stood  at  the  "Hawk's  Nest" 
in  West  Virgina,  and  looked  out  for  a  hundred 
miles  over  a  country  five  thousand  feet  below,  all 
that  distant  region  bathed  in  lurid  heat,  verdant 
and  luxuriant  with  tropical  vegetation. 

121 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

The  summits  below  me  were  volcanic  and  the 
flat  cone  of  Mexico's  last  created  volcano,  Jorullo, 
thrown  up  to  a  height  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet 
in  a  single  night,  September  29,  1759,  and  so 
graphically  described  by  Humboldt,  stood  at  our 
very  feet — the  extraordinarily  clear  atmosphere 
making  the  volcano  and  neighboring  peaks  and 
ranges  look  as  though  crowded  hard  against  each 
other,  although  they  were  many  of  them  miles 
apart. 

My  first  herald  of  the  approaching  tropics  was 
a  paraquita  gorgeous  in  emerald  and  scarlet  and 
gold,  sitting  on  a  stump  watching  me  intently,  and 
then  I  noticed  a  flock  of  parrots  tumbling  in  the 
air. 

The  road,  a  mere  trail,  was  as  steep  as  some  of 
those  which  lead  down  from  our  Kanawha  mines. 
We  let  the  Jefe  and  his  soldiers  follow  us,  we  tak- 
ing the  lead.  Down  we  went  and  down,  and  down, 
hour  after  hour.  We  passed  palm  trees,  multitudes 
of  bananas,  and  coffee  trees.  There  were  many 
Indian  huts  by  the  wayside, — for  we  were  on  a 
famous,  much  traveled  thoroughfare, — and  at 
most  of  them  a  bottle  or  gourd  of  pulque  and  fruit 
were  set  out  to  tempt  the  traveler  to  buy. 

When  almost  down  we  came  to  the  hacienda 
Tejemanil,  a  great  sugar  estate,  with  an  ancient 
mill  run  by  water  conveyed  many  miles  from  the 

122 


Inguran  Mines 

plateau.  Here  we  rested  half  an  hour,  the  Jefe 
transacted  some  business,  and  we  ate  delicious 
oranges,  small,  in  color  a  light  yellow,  and  bursting 
with  slightly  acid  juice. 

We  were  now  on  a  level  of  palm  orchards, 
whence  the  dried  palm  leaves  are  shipped  to  the 
highlands  in  great  bales.  Then  we  came  to  an- 
other hacienda,  a  farm  of  a  hundred  thousand 
acres.  La  Playa,  where  the  Jefe  and  his  company 
with  their  doomed  prisoner  took  the  diverging  road 
to  La  Huacana.  Finally,  we  came  to  a  broad  val- 
ley, the  valley  of  El  Rio'de  la  Playa,  black  with 
volcanic  sand,  called  the  mal  pais  (bad  land),  this 
being  the  immediate  region  once  devastated  by  the 
terrible  eruption  of  volcano  Jorullo.  Here  were 
extensive  banana  groves,  strange  tropical  trees 
quite  new  to  me,  orchids  and  palms  and  a  stretch 
of  several  miles  of  indigo  and  watermelon  culti- 
vation. We  then  crossed  another  divide  and  came 
down  again  just  as  the  big  hot  sun  dove  behind  the 
mountains  and  precipitated  the  night.  It  was  pitch 
dark  when  we  entered  the  hacienda  La  Cuyaco  and 
dismounted,  four  thousand  eight  hundred  feet  be- 
low Ario,  six  thousand  feet  below  Santa  Clara  and 
yet  some  one  thousand  two  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea. 

This  night  we  slept  on  rawhide  springs,  a  piece 
123 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

of  matting  for  a  mattress.  We  were  in  the  tropics. 
I  was  forbid  to  touch  water,  even  to  wash.  Our 
supper  was  chocolate,  (delicious),  tortillas  and 
eggs.  Parrots  and  two  large  gray  doves  and  a 
gold  finch  hung  In  cages  in  the  patio  where  we  ate. 
All  were  new  to  me.  A  baby  swung  in  a  cradle 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  and  the  father,  Izus, 
the  keeper  of  the  courtyard,  held  another.  He  had 
thirteen  children. 

We  took  off  our  thick  clothes — (it  had  been 
difficult  to  endure  them  all  the  afternoon) — I  put 
on  a  gauze  underwear  and  linen,  and  slept  without 
the  burden  of  a  blanket.  In  the  morning  we  set 
out  early,  but  the  sun  was  fiercely  hot  by  nine 
o'clock.  For  some  fifteen  miles  we  now  traversed 
a  wide  valley.  We  were  away  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Jorullo  and  Its  scattered  volcanic  sands, 
and  had  entered  the  mineral  belt.  A  ledge  bearing 
copper  and  silver  ran  through  the  courtyard  of  the 
hacienda.  I  tripped  against  it  when  going  to 
supper. 

And  thereby  hangs  a  tale:  Not  long  ago,  it 
seems,  an  Itinerant  American — one  of  those  casual 
countrymen  of  mine  w^ho  now  and  then  retreat  to 
Mexico,  when  the  law  at  home  gives  too  hot  chase 
— dropped  in  at  the  hacienda  toward  the  close  of 
a  hot  day  and  asked  for  lodging.  He  was  hospit- 
ably received,  as  is  the  custom,  and  when  the  great 

124 


Inguran  Mines 

bell  clanged  for  supper,  he  left  his  sleeping  room 
and  made  his  way  across  the  courtyard. 

Walking  carelessly,  he  stubbed  his  toe  against 
the  unruly  ledge  and  limping  Into  the  dining  room, 
his  host  apologized  for  the  presence  of  so  111  lo- 
cated a  ledge  of  obtruding  rock.  The  guest  de- 
clared his  hurt  a  trifling  matter,  and  the  Incident 
was  forgotten.  The  next  morning,  he  was  seen 
knocking  the  ledge  with  a  hammer  and  he  put 
samples  of  the  rock  in  his  pocket  before  he  went 
away. 

Many  months  passed  by  and  all  memory  of  the 
casual  American  had  vanished  from  men's  minds. 
Recently,  however,  an  officer  connected  with  the 
Department  de  MInerIa  of  the  Mexican  Govern- 
ment, dined  at  the  hacienda  and  politely  Informed 
the  siiperintendente,  that  an  American  had  "de- 
nounced" (I.  e.  filed  claim  to)  the  ledge  of  mineral 
running  through  the  courtyard,  and  had  received 
title  thereto  along  with  the  right  to  occupy  as  much 
of  the  adjacent  surface  as  might  be  necessary  to 
work  the  mine. 

Thus  are  the  proprietors  of  the  hacienda  most 
uneasy  at  the  approach  of  any  gringo  (contempt- 
uous term  for  American)  lest  the  newcomer  turn 
out  to  be  their  casual  guest  or  his  representative. 

After  leaving  Cuyaco,  we  met  constant  Indi- 
cations of  minerals  along  the  road.     I  also  noted 

125 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

flocks  of  parrots,  multitudes  of  jays,  flycatchers, 
brown  and  black  vultures  and  many  Caracara 
eagles,  all  of  these  birds  being  new  to  me;  and  I 
saw  also  several  fine  butterflies,  PapUios  and  Colias, 
small  white  and  orange  and  yellow  ones.  But 
nowhere  did  I  see  any  wild  flowers — the  season 
was  now  too  hot  for  these. 

Toward  ten  o'clock,  we  stopped  at  an  hacienda, 
that  of  San  Pedro  de  Castrejon,  where  the  Castre- 
jon  brothers  live,  owners  of  copper  properties  near 
those  we  go  to  see.  They  are  the  grand  sehores 
of  the  Valley;  they  also  gave  us  letters  of  intro- 
duction. Black  birds,  big  boat-tailed  grakles,  grey 
and  white  jays,  and  scores  of  wild  doves  were  here 
walking  tamely  among  our  horses.  Swarms  of 
parrots  were  clamoring  in  the  trees.  For  a  few 
centavos,  we  here  bought  delicious  bananas,  small 
finger  size,  and  others  three  times  as  big,  and 
oranges  and  cocoanuts. 

By  eleven  o'clock  we  began  to  see  the  steam 
from  the  power  house  of  the  Inguran  mines  and 
were  soon  there.  They  are  ancient  copper  mines, 
now  being  opened  by  the  French  Rothschilds,  over 
four  million  francs  having  been  thus  far  spent. 
Extensive  copper  deposits  are  here  exposed.  The 
managers  are  all  Americans;  one  is  from  Virginia, 
one  from  California.  There  is  not  a  Frenchman 
employed. 

126 


i.i 


Inguran  Mines 

We  are  installed  In  the  private  bungalow  of 
the  general  manager,  of  Mexico  City,  from  whom 
we  brought  a  letter  of  Introduction.  We  are  half 
way  up  the  foothills;  we  have  a  superb  view,  the 
beds  are  comfortable  and  the  fare  Is  good. 

This  morning  we  have  gone  through  the  mines. 
Fuel  and  transportation  are  here  the  two  prob- 
lems. This  whole  region  of  several  hundred  miles 
square  Is  rich  In  copper  and  silver,  is  full  of  ancient 
mines,  once  worked  by  Indian  slaves  but  now  aban- 
doned, since  Spanish  expulsion  and  the  dawn  of 
liberty. 


127 


XII 

Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

MiNA  LA   NORIA,   MiGHOACAN,   MEXICO, 

December  4th. 

We  left  the  mines  of  Inguran  early  Saturday 
morning.  We  were  up  at  four-thirty,  and  by  five- 
thirty  had  packed  and  breakfasted,  desayuno,  and 
almuerzo  combined.  The  traveling  Mexican  eats 
early  and,  while  he  may  take  a  midday  snack,  it 
rarely  rises  to  the  dignity  of  the  comida,  and  when 
the  day's  journey  is  over,  like  the  two  morning 
meals,  the  comida  and  ce}2a,  are  united  into  one. 
Our  breakfast  consisted  of  fried  chicken  and  rice — 
rice  so  delicately  fried  that  each  grain  was  encased 
in  a  crisp  and  dainty  shell,  and  each  mouthful 
cracked  with  relish  between  your  teeth.  Eggs  are 
always  to  be  had.  In  Spain  and  Cuba  an  egg  is 
called  huevo,  in  Mexico  the  refinement  of  language 
substitutes  the  word  ^/««^z/i//o  (little  whitey) .  It 
is  a  courtesy  to  ask  your  hostess  for  blanquillos. 
It  would  be  ill-bred  to  ask  her  for  huevos.  It  is 
also  a  courtesy,  to  say,  when  you  address  her, 

128 


IN   FLIGHT  FROM   MY  KODAK 


\ 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

senorita.  If  she  protests  she  is  a  seJiora,  mother 
of  a  family  and  long  past  the  age  of  a  senorita, 
you  exclaim  "It  is  impossible,"  for  since  she  looks 
so  young,  she  must  be  a  senorita.  The  blunt  Amer- 
ican manner  which  calls  an  egg  a  hiievo,  and  a 
dame  a  senora,  is  regarded  as  unpardonably  rude. 

By  5  :45  we  were  climbing  down  the  three  hun- 
dred feet  of  mountain  side,  through  the  mining  vil- 
lage, over  an  ancient  paved  roadway  about  four 
feet  wide,  the  paving  stones  set  in  so  firmly  between 
the  curbs  that  the  floods  and  wear  of  the  centuries 
and  seasons  have  left  It  as  intact  and  solid  as  when 
first  laid.  The  Spaniards  built  many  such  road- 
ways to  their  mines,  when  they  worked  the  Indians 
as  slaves,  centuries  ago.  The  mining  village  was 
picturesque.  The  miner,  when  he  goes  to  work, 
builds  his  own  house  and  pays  no  rent.  The  walls 
are  upright  poles  and  the  roof  is  a  palm  leaf 
thatch.  When  he  quits  his  job  he  abandons  his 
house,  although  he  sometimes  carries  away  the 
roof.  Near  each  dwelling  Is  built  a  sort  of  Dutch 
oven  of  clay,  making  an  oven  and  stove  combined. 
In  it  the  bread  Is  baked;  upon  it  most  of  the  cook- 
ing Is  carried  on.  Housekeeping  Is  a  simple  pro- 
cess In  this  tropical  land. 

The  mines  of  Inguran  are  situated  at  an  alti- 
tude of  about  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
and  the  dry  air,  not  too  light  nor  too  heavy,  seems 
9  129 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

to  agree  perfectly  with  the  Americans  there  at 
work,  and  restored  me  to  a  vigor  which  the  thin 
air  of  the  highlands  had  partly  relaxed.  We  were 
entertained,  of  an  evening,  at  the  delightful  bunga- 
low of  the  superintendent  of  the  inside  work,  a 
Mr.  O'Mahondra,  a  member  of  the  distinguished 
family  of  that  name  of  Richmond,  Virgina.  Orig- 
inally he  began  the  practice  of  law  in  Chicago, 
when,  his  wife  being  threatened  with  consump- 
tion, he  fled  with  her  to  El  Paso.  There  she 
gained  nothing  and  he  carried  her  further  south 
and,  abandoning  the  law,  took  this  post  at  Inguran. 
She  was  tall,  fine  looking  and  the  picture  of  robust 
health.  A  clever  American  woman,  she  had  ac- 
quired the  art  of  assaying  and,  as  official  assayer 
of  the  mines,  received  a  handsome  salary.  "The 
only  drawback  to  living  in  Inguran,"  she  said, 
*'is  that  I  am  so  delightfully  healthy." 

Our  way  lay  down  and  then  across  the  San 
Pedro  valley  toward  the  southwest.  The  valley  is 
a  mile  or  two  wide.  The  trail  we  followed  ran 
through  dense  tropical  foliage.  The  air  in  the 
early  morning  was  cool  almost  to  coldness.  The 
birds  were  everywhere  astir  and  all  their  notes 
were  new  to  me.  There  were  many  doves,  the 
little  brown  ground  dove  that  merely  stepped  out 
of  our  way;  a  bigger  dove,  slate  gray  in  color, 
which  flew   among  the  higher  branches  of  the 

130 


*-^<l^^^^biH^^^^^^^^^^^^^^I 

■^H^^H 

Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

thickets.  The  large  gray  jay  was  numerous  and 
there  were  many  magpies  and  rusty  and  yellow- 
headed  grakles.  Along  the  watercourses  we  again 
came  constantly  upon  bands  of  the  big  brown  and 
small  black  vultures,  as  well  as  Caracara  eagles 
which  were  fishing  In  the  stream.  Parakeets,  re- 
splendent in  green  and  scarlet  and  gold,  were 
abundant,  and  flocks  of  gray  and  green  parrots 
tumbled  clumsily  in  the  air.  I  saw  also  my  first 
big  green  Military  macaws, — birds  as  large  as 
chickens  or  small  turkeys,  the  body  a  brilliant 
green,  the  head  capped  with  red  and  yellow.  I 
have  never  seen  these  splendid  birds  in  captivity, 
nor  among  those  brilliant  macaws  from  the  Ama- 
zon and  from  Australia  which  are  so  often  exhib- 
ited in  collections.  These  macaws  were  very  tame, 
and  a  flock  of  them  settled  upon  a  mimosa  tree 
under  which  we  drew  rein.  I  might  have  shot 
them  with  my  pistol,  and  should  have  brought 
some  of  them  home  with  me.  If  I  had  had  any  way 
to  preserve  the  skins.  In  the  thickets  I  also  noticed 
flycatchers  and  several  sparrows  I  did  not  know, 
but  I  saw  no  ravens  as  I  did  the  other  day  upon 
the  highlands. 

After  five  or  ten  miles  down  the  valley,  wind- 
ing through  the  forest,  crossing  open  clearings, 
passing  here  and  there  a  native  hut,  frequently 
fording  the  river,  we  left  the  main  trail  and  turned 

131 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

up  a  shaded  ravine,  following  It  to  Its  head,  where 
we  passed  through  a  low  gap  with  high  mountains 
on  either  hand,  and  then  descended  toward  the 
river  again,  thus  cutting  off  a  great  bend  and  sav- 
ing fifteen  or  twenty  miles.  As  we  came  down 
toward  the  main  valley,  the  timber  grew  smaller, 
the  persistent  mesquit  more  and  more  possessed 
the  land,  and  the  sun  fell  full  upon  us.  The  heat 
was  Intense.  No  living  thing  now  seemed  any- 
where to  exist;  only  the  multitudes  of  little  brown 
lizards,  countless  thousands  of  them  scurrying  on 
the  sand;  and  iguanas,  black  as  night,  sleeping  in 
the  crotch  of  a  tree,  or  on  the  heated  top  of  a  stone 
near  the  wayside.  Nor  did  any  sound  now  stir 
the  midday  silence  except  the  hum  of  millions  of 
cicadas,  which  the  fierce  sun  rays  seem  only  to 
nurse  Into  active  life. 

Six  hours  in  the  forepart  of  the  day  brought  us 
to  the  Hacienda  de  Oropeo,  on  the  borders  of  the 
Rio  de  San  Pedro.  Here  we  halted  for  the  noon- 
time rest,  lying-by  beneath  an  Indian  shelter,  a 
wide-thatched  roof  of  palm  leaves,  under  which 
we  could  tie  our  horses,  and  where  we  might  our- 
selves repose.  Here  an  old  Indian  woman  cooked 
for  us  tortillas  and  frijoles.  We  watched  her  make 
the  tortillas,  little  cakes  of  corn  meal  as  thin  as 
sheets  of  paper.  The  dry  kernels  of  the  corn  are 
first  soaked  In  lime  water  until  the  enveloping  shell 

132 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

readily  comes  off.  It  is  then  much  like  samp.  The 
swelled  and  softened  grain  is  then  rubbed  to  a 
pulp  between  two  stones,  the  moistened  pulp  is 
patted  between  the  hands  to  the  thinnest  sort  of  a 
wafer,  and  these  thin  wafers  are  laid  upon  the  top 
of  the  clay  oven  to  be  slowly  dried.  The  tortilla 
is  said  to  be  the  most  nutritious  of  all  foods  pre- 
pared from  maize.  It  is  the  staff  of  life  of  the 
Mexican  peon,  and  the  making  of  tortillas  is  the 
chief  vocation  in  life  of  his  wife  and  daughters. 
As  soon  as  the  little  girls  are  big  enough  they  be- 
gin to  pat  tortillas,  and  they  continue  to  pat  tor- 
tillas throughout  their  lives.  If  you  travel  through 
an  Indian  village  your  ear  will  be  struck  by  the 
pat,  pat,  pat,  of  hundreds  of  pairs  of  hands.  The 
Indian  women  are  patting  tortillas.  They  are  al- 
ways patting  tortillas,  when  not  specially  occupied 
in  other  toils. 

Toward  4:00  P.  M.  Izus,  our  mozo,  repacked 
the  loads,  again  we  mounted,  and  in  an  hour  were 
across  the  river,  where  we  ascended  a  small  creek 
a  couple  of  miles  to  these  ancient  mines.  It  was 
while  resting  at  noontime,  that  we  noticed  a  group 
of  thirty  or  forty  men  bearing  on  their  shoulders 
the  palm-thatched  roof  of  a  moving  mansion. 
Later,  we  rode  past  the  new  domicile,  the  roof  was 
already  set  upon  the  corner  posts,  and  the  family 
were  already  moved  into  their  habitation. 

133 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

We  are  bivouacked  in  a  building  where  once 
lived  the  lord  of  the  mines, — mines  now  filled  with 
water  and  abandoned,  although  none  of  the  work- 
ings go  down  more  than  one  hundred  feet.  The 
building  is  chiefly  constructed,  both  the  floor  and 
walls,  of  sun-baked  clay.  High  above  the  walls 
rests  the  palm-thatched  roof.  There  are  no  frames 
in  the  window  openings,  no  frames  in  the  door- 
ways. Walls  and  roof  being  only  a  protection 
from  the  sun  heat,  the  air  may  blow  through  where 
it  listeth.  Our  cots  are  taken  from  the  back  of 
"Old  Blacky,"  unrolled  and  set  in  the  breezy  cham- 
ber; upon  them  we  sit  and  sleep. 

Our  only  terrors  are  the  ants,  but  we  set  the 
legs  of  the  cots  in  little  earthenware  pans  of  water 
and  are  safe.  An  Indian  family,  living  in  the  dis- 
tant end  of  the  rambling,  abandoned  buildings 
across  the  courtyard,  provides  us  with  boiled  rice 
and  stewed  chicken.  Izus  has  brought  us  an  abun- 
dance of  bananas  and  oranges,  fresh,  fragrant,  and 
luscious.  We  buy  several  oranges  for  a  centavo, 
and  a  centavo  is  worth  less  than  half  an  American 
cent.  The  Indian  keeps  poultry  and  also  game- 
cocks. These  latter  are  tied  by  the  leg  near  his 
door.  They  are  his  pride,  and  he  fights  them  on 
Sunday  after  church.  When  the  priest  has  closed 
the  services  the  neighbors,  who  have  all  brought 
their  chickens,   form   in   a   circle,   and  there  the 

134 


MOVING  A    MANSION 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

week's  wages  are  staked  and  lost  upon  the  issue  of 
the  fights.    I  send  you  a  snap  shot  of  a  battle. 

When  dining,  we  sit  on  improvised  stools 
around  a  homemade  table  and  just  back  of  us 
crouch  a  group  of  attentive  admirers — the  fam- 
ished family  dogs,  rough-haired,  cadaverous,  wolf- 
eyed,  silent  dogs  they  are.  They  watch  with  fur- 
tive intentness  each  morsel  we  put  into  our  mouths, 
they  instantly  pounce  upon  each  crumb  and  bone 
which  falls  within  their  reach.  They  never  bark — 
only  a  shrill  melancholy  howl  I  sometimes  hear 
breaking  the  stillness  of  the  night;  they  never  wag 
their  tails,  for  these  are  always  tucked  between 
their  legs.  When  we  have  finished,  we  toss  to 
these  wistful  watchers  the  refuse  of  our  meal. 
There  is  a  silent  scuffle,  a  hasty  crunching  and  then 
each  dogs  sits  up  as  hungry  and  observant  as  be- 
fore. Thus  our  friends  breakfast  and  dine  and 
sup  with  us,  and  so  filled  with  suspicion  and  fear  of 
man  are  they,  that  they  never  by  any  chance  allow 
us  to  approach.  "Veni  aqui  perro"  (come  here, 
dog)  an  Indian  boy  calls  out,  and  Immediately 
perro  slinks  out  of  sight.  Descended  originally 
from  the  wild  coyote,  which  they  much  resemble, 
these  dogs  seem  to  have  acquired  little  taming  by 
contact  with  man. 

Next  up  the  creek  above  us  He  the  Azteca 
mines,  long  since  abandoned,  and  then  come  the 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

China  (pronounced  cheena)  mines,  the  only  group 
now  being  worked,  the  present  siiperintendente 
being  a  member  of  the  Castrejon  family  to  whom 
they  belong.  The  vein  is  a  porphyry-and-quartz, 
carrying  copper,  and  is  about  three  hundred  feet 
wide  and  almost  vertical.  It  is  nearly  with  the 
watercourse,  about  one  degree  to  the  west,  and 
how  deep  it  may  go  no  one  knows.  This  whole 
region  is  full  of  holes,  generally,  say,  four  feet  to 
six  feet  square,  from  which  for  centuries  the  copper 
ore  has  been  taken.  The  rich  pieces  were  carried 
away  and  the  balance  was  thrown  upon  the  ground. 
The  entire  country  is  filled  with  innumerable  piles 
of  this  abandoned  copper  ore  carrying  two  and 
three  per  cent  of  copper,  and  waiting  for  that  dis- 
tant day  when  railroads,  modern  machinery  and 
efficient  labor  shall  make  this  natural  wealth  profit- 
able to  modern  enterprise.  As  it  is,  the  present 
primitive  Indian  methods  of  mining  and  transpor- 
tation on  mules,  unventllated  pits,  and  awful  trails 
climbing  stupendous  heights,  destroy  the  possibility 
of  profit  even  In  working  the  richest  ores. 

Sunday  we  spent  In  riding  over  the  hills  which 
rise  from  three  to  five  hundred  feet  above  the 
stream.  Up  their  easy,  rounded  slopes  a  horse 
can  clamber  almost  anywhere.  (It  is  a  country 
where  cattle  roam  and  where  the  Mexican  vaqiieros 
(cowboys)    are  the  only  human  beings..     In  the 

136 


BRINGING   OUT  THE  ORE 
LA   CHINA   MINES 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

afternoon,  we  went  down  to  the  San  Pedro  River, 
now  a  small  stream,  and  bathed  in  the  tepid  water, 
where  I  surprised  an  old  familiar  friend,  also 
watching  the  limpid  water,  a  Belted  Kingfisher. 
Monday,  we  spent  from  seven  o'clock  to  ten, 
going  through  the  China  mines,  which  are  worked 
by  the  Mexicans  in  the  old  primitive  way.  We 
went  into  the  side  of  the  hill  by  a  short  tunnel, 
which  led  to  a  black  hole  up  out  of  which  stuck 
a  slippery  pole.  On  one  side  of  this  pole  notches 
are  cut,  and  into  these  notches,  if  you  want  to  de- 
scend, you  must  sidewise  set  your  feet.  Our  guide 
clasped  the  pole  with  one  arm,  holding  aloft  his 
flickering  light  with  the  other,  and  slowly  sank 
from  sight  into  the  blackness  below.  We  all  went 
down,  not  knowing  what  might  be  beneath  us. 
At  first,  my  feet  would  not  hold  in  the  notches, 
but  it  was  a  matter  of  setting  in  my  feet  or  falling 
into  unlimited  darkness,  so  I  clung  tight  and  came 
slowly  down.  The  distance  was  only  about  twenty 
feet.  Here  there  was  an  ofi-set  of  eight  or  ten 
feet,  and  then  another  pole  and  more  notches, 
blackness  above  as  well  as  below,  and  the  notches 
had  grown  slick  through  years  of  contact  with 
shoeless  Indian  feet.  Thus  we  went  down  and 
down,  descending  some  two  hundred  feet  to  where 
the  air  lay  hot  and  heavy  and  our  breathing  be- 
came stertorous  and  slow.     We  then  followed  a 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

long  narrow  tunnel,  and  came  to  where  naked  In- 
dians with  steel  wedges  were  sledging  out  the  ore. 
The  Indians  descend  in  the  morning,  they  work  as 
long  as  the  foul  air  permits,  then  they  gather  up  all 
the  rock  they  have  dislodged,  put  it  into  a  bull 
hide  sack,  load  this  on  their  backs  and  climb  up 
the  notched  poles  again  to  daylight.  On  issuing 
from  the  mines  they  stagger  to  an  ore  pile,  under 
a  thatched  roof  set  on  high  poles,  and  dump  their 
loads.  Around  this  pile  of  ore  squat  twenty  or 
thirty  Indians,  each  holding  a  stone  in  his  hand. 
Each  has  before  him  a  large  flat  piece  of  rock. 
He  reaches  for  the  ore  pile,  takes  /rom  it  a  lump 
which  looks  fairly  good  and  cracks  it  to  powder 
between  the  two  stones.  The  mean  ore  is  thrown 
on  a  dump  pile,  the  rich  ore  is  all  cracked  up. 
This  is  the  original  of  the  modern  stamp  mill, 
and  It  is  the  only  stamp  mill  the  Indian-Mexican 
will  probably  ever  know.  The  ore,  after  it  is 
pulverized  in  this  way  by  hand,  is  put  into  a 
wooden  trough  into  which  water  Is  poured  which 
has  been  carried  up  In  bull  hide  sacks  from  the 
stream  below,  and  the  ore  is  thus  washed  and  con- 
centrated. It  is  afterwards  put  Into  sacks,  about 
two  hundred  pounds  to  the  sack,  and  taken  fifty  or 
sixty  miles,  over  the  frightful  precipitous  trails, 
to  the  railroad  at  Patzcuaro,  whence  It  Is  shipped 
to  the  smelter. "^ 

138 


WASHING  COPPER  ORE 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

It  is  a  wonder  that  even  the  Mexicans  can  thus 
work  these  mines,  year  after  year,  and  make  the 
smallest  profit.  The  most  efficient  American  man- 
ager would  find  this  to  be  impossible.  The  Mex- 
ican superintendente  lives  on  nothing  and  his  Mex- 
ican employes  live  on  less.  Eighteen  to  twenty 
cents  a  day  Mexican  (less  than  ten  cents  a  day  in 
American)  is  the  miner's  pay.  On  this  amount 
he  must  support  himself  and  often  a  large  family, 
/^he  Mexicans  follow  the  old  Spanish  theory,  that 
/  human  labor  is  cheaper  than  machinery,  if  you 
I  can  crush  down  the  human  labor  to  a  sufficiently 
low  wage.  Hence,  the  Mexican  employing  classes 
discourage  both  the  use  of  machinery  and  the  edu- 
cation of  the  peon.  Ignorance  and  the  abject  pov- 
erty of  the  working  class  Is  the  Spanish-American 
ideahj  The  day  laborer  in  Mexico  is  little  better 
mail  a  slave.  The  wealthy  mine  owner,  who  lives 
In  luxury  In  the  distant  Capital,  or  In  Paris,  or 
Madrid,  may  exhibit  the  evidences  of  culture  and 
refinement,  but  Mexico  can  never  greatly  advance 
until  the  masses  of  the  common  people  shall  be 
enlightened  and  by  modern  statesmanship  be  lifted 
from  this  condition  of  Industrial  servitude. 

Some  of  the  types  among  these  Indians  are 
curious.  One  man  has  a  head  that  runs  up  straight 
behind  his  ears,  nor  has  he  much  brain  In  front. 

139 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Another  looks  like  a  Japanese.  These  Indians — 
they  are  called  Indians,  but  are  many  of  them  half- 
breeds,  for  there  is  much  Spanish  blood  mixed  in 
among  them — are  pitifully  poor  and  are  hopeless 
in  their  poverty.  They  have  been  hammered  and 
battered  for  so  many  centuries  by  the  merciless 
Spanish  overlord,  that  they  have  had  all  spirit  long 
ago  knocked  out  of  them.  They  seem  to  be  unable 
now  to  rise.  Nor  are  they  a  hardy  race.  When 
sickness  prevails  they  are  too  poor  to  employ  a 
doctor,  but  rely  upon  charms  and  religious  rites. 
I  have  just  acted  the  part  of  a  physician.  I  have 
brought  with  me  a  small  box  of  selected  medicines 
sufficient  for  the  common  ailments  of  this  land  of 
'semitroplcs.  I  am  now  pi;escrlblng  quinine  for 
Doha  Caldlna,  calomel  for  Sehor  Perez.  I  hear 
that  a  crippled  man  is  coming  to-morrow  to  see 
me  and  ask  whether  the  white  seiior  can  cure  him 
and  make  him  walk.  There  is  a  certain  childlike' 
quality  about  these  peones.  How  humbly  they  ac- 
cept the  superiority  of  the  white  man,  whom  they 
do  not  love ! 

I  see  many  instances  of  what  might  be  called 
degenerates,  misshapen  heads,  ill-shaped  and  de- 
formed bodies,  signs  of  a  race  too  much  Inbred. 
They  wear  white  cotton  clothes,  peaked  straw  hats 
and  rawhide  sandals.  The  men  generally  carry 
blankets    {zerapes)    folded    across    the    shoulder 

140 


AN  ANCIENT  DUMP  OF  COPPER  ORE 


Antique  Methods  of  Mining 

which  they  wrap  up  in,  as  do  their  brothers  on  the 
highlands,  when  the  air  grows  cold. 

The  coldness  of  the  nights  and  the  burning 
heat  of  the  day  are  strange.  I  slept  last  night  in 
flannel  underwear,  a  woolen  jersey  over  that  and 
flannel  pajamas  still  outside;  then  two  thick  wool 
blankets  and  a  rubber  poncho  over  all.  Early, 
toward  one  or  two  o'clock  I  woke  up  chilled  to  the 
bone.  I  put  on  my  corduroy  coat.  I  was  just 
warm,  for  an  icy  wind  was  blowing  down  from  the 
lofty  altitudes  of  the  Tierra  Fria.  This  morning 
when  the  sun  rose  about  six  o'clock,  the  air  was 
still  cold.  In  an  hour  it  was  pleasantly  warm, 
birds  were  singing  and  flying  from  tree  to  tree. 
By  nine  o'clock  the  sun  blazed  like  a  ball  of  fire. 
I  am  now,  at  half  past  nine,  going  about  in  slip- 
pers, in  linen  trousers  and  my  thin  pajama  coat, 
and  even  then  I  hide  from  the  sun.  By  ten  o'clock 
a  silence  lies  upon  the  land  profound  and  over- 
whelming, not  a  living  thing  is  astir,  except  only  the 
lizards  and  the  cicadas.  The  daylight  ends  pre- 
cipitately. The  day  lasts  only  as  long  as  the  sun 
is  up.  By  half  past  five  the  sun  hangs  above  the 
mountains  on  the  west.  Suddenly  it  is  gone.  In 
fifteen  minutes  it  is  dark,  the  stars  are  out,  and 
such  white  stars  they  are !  The  cold  air  of  the 
highlands  then  settles  down  upon  us  for  the  night. 


141 


XIII 

Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

Churumuco,  Mina  el  Puerto, 
On  the  Rio  de  las  Balsas, 

December  6th. 

We  were  up  before  the  day,  our  horses  and 
mules  having  been  fed  with  grain  a  little  after 
midnight.  Thus  the  food  is  digested  before  the 
journey  of  the  day  is  begun.  It  was  dazzling  star- 
light with  a  gleaming  streak  of  white  moon.  Our 
two  pack  beasts  had  been  loaded,  we  had  break- 
fasted and  were  In  the  saddles  a  little  after  four. 
A  keen  wind  which  cut  like  a  knife-edge  blew 
steadily  down  from  the  highlands  behind  us.  I 
had  kept  on  my  warm  clothes  of  the  night.  We 
traveled  rapidly  by  the  brilliant  starlight  and  pass- 
ing down  the  aroyo  along  which  we  camped, 
turned  down  the  San  Pedro  River  toward  the 
south.  We  crossed  the  stream  frequently,  travel- 
ing in  single  file.  By  seven  o'clock  the  sun  was 
peering  over  the  hills  and  I  began  to  shed  my 
clothes.  By  half  past  eight  I  retained  only  my 
thinnest  underwear,   my  pajama   coat,   my  linen 

142 


THE  LLANOS.     HAWK  POISED  UPON 
AN  ORGAN  CACTUS 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

trousers  and  slippers.  By  ten  o'clock  the  sun  was 
scorching,  our  great  Mexican  sombreros  alone  sav- 
ing us  from  its  fierce  rays.  Our  way  lay  for 
twenty  miles  almost  due  south  down  the  valley  of 
the  San  Pedro,  then  turning  to  our  left,  we  fol- 
lowed a  slightly-traveled  trail,  crossing  a  succes- 
sion of  low  hills,  until  after  four  long  hours  we 
came  to  immense  plains  or  llanos  stretching  flat 
as  a  table  for  twenty  miles  toward  the  Balsas 
River.  The  streams  were  dry,  the  leaves  were 
falling  from  shrubs  and  trees.  It  was  the  dry 
season.  Mesquit  and  cactus  and  mimosa  were  the 
only  vegetation,  except  the  blistered  stalks  of  the 
sun-dried  grasses.  No  water  was  visible  anywhere. 
The  ground  was  parched  and  cracked.  A  light 
breeze  which  followed  us  all  day  and  a  few  high- 
flying clouds,  which  now  and  then  hid  the  sun, 
alone  saved  us  from  being  almost  broiled  alive. 
The  watch  in  my  pocket  became  burning  hot,  I 
could  scarcely  hold  It  In  my  hand;  the  metal  but- 
tons on  my  clothes  almost  burned  themselves  loose ; 
only  the  dryness  of  the  atmosphere  made  it  possible 
to  have  made  this  journey  during  the  day. 

The  great  llanos,  stretching  south  and  south- 
west, were  crossed  by  many  well-beaten  trails, 
where  the  horses  and  cattle,  which  roam  here  in 
thousands,  have  worn  the  paths  they  take  to  reach 
the  distant  water.     It  is  said  that  these  animals, 

143 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

which  wander  at  large,  have  schooled  themselves 
to  cross  the  wide  plains  beneath  the  stars  in  the 
cool  of  the  night. 

We  reached  the  mines  of  El  Puerto  about  half 
past  one  o'clock,  crossing  the  plain  for  several  hours 
toward  the  mountain  on  whose  side  the  mines  are 
perched.  The  only  living  things  we  met  upon 
these  llanos  were  the  jack  rabbits  and  an  occa- 
sional roadrunner,  which  birds  were  very  tame. 
Although  his  rabbitship  has  attained  a  reputation 
for  lightning  leg-velocity  upon  the  sagebrush  plains 
of  our  own  far-west,  yet  surely  his  Mexican  cousin 
has  him  outclassed.  A  vaquero,  followed  by  a 
couple  of  lean  and  seasoned  hounds,  had  met  us 
on  the  borders  of  the  llanos  and  kept  with  us 
almost  across  the  plain.  The  dogs,  despite  the 
fact  that  they  must  well  have  known  the  power 
of  the  jack  rabbit,  would  often  come  upon  one 
crouched  in  the  grass,  and  so  nearly  within  their 
reach  that  they  quite  forgot  their  lessons  of  the 
past,  and  started  full  cry  upon  his  trail.  It  was 
almost  laughable  to  see  the  hounds'  despair,  so 
quickly  did  the  rabbits  shoot  out  of  sight,  quite 
beyond  all  dog  power  to  keep  the  pace.  The  pair 
would  regularly  return  with  their  tails  between 
their  legs,  the  picture  of  disorganized  defeat.  * 

We  have  climbed  three  hundred  feet  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain  to  a  group  of  open  sheds, 

144 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

thatched  with  palm  leaves,  while  above  us  volcanic 
rock  masses  tower  more  than  two  thousand  feet. 
Across  the  river  Balsas,  apparently  rising  from  the 
water's  edge,  are  the  tremendous  heights  of  the 
Cordillera,  lifting  themselves  twelve  to  thirteen 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

The  Mina  el  Puerto  is  an  ancient  mine,  now 
nearly  exhausted;  for  it  has  been  worked  almost 
two  hundred  years,  all  through  a  single  doorway 
cut  into  the  rock,  barred  by  a  great  wooden  door, 
fastened  by  a  ponderous  lock  with  a  ponderous 
iron  key.  Each  morning,  for  many  decades,  the 
owner  has  taken  the  key  from  his  belt,  unlocked 
the  big  door  and  sent  fifteen  to  twenty  naked  In- 
dians down  the  "chicken  ladders"  four  hundred 
feet  into  the  hot  mines  below.  There  is  no  venti- 
lation, there  are  no  pumps,  there  is  no  other  way 
to  go  In  or  out.  Two  or  three  hours  is  the  longest 
time  a  man  can  work  at  the  bottom  of  this  hole; 
when  the  Indian  can  stand  it  no  longer  he  climbs 
up  bringing  on  his  back  the  ore  which  he  has  been 
able  to  dislodge,  or  a  bag  of  water,  if  any  shall 
have  leaked  in.  By  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  those  who  went  down  have  all  come 
out  again.  The  ore  they  have  dug  is  thrown  upon 
a  pile  beneath  the  palm-thatched  roof;  the  owner 
of  the  mines  then  locks  the  door.  When  the  ore 
pile  has  been  reduced  to  powder  by  the  hammering 

lo  145 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

of  many  dusky  hands,  it  is  concentrated  In  the 
wooden  troughs,  washed  with  water  from  the  river 
Balsas,  three  miles  away,  brought  up  in  bullskin 
sacks  upon  the  backs  of  mules;  and  when  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  two-hundred-pound  bags  of  con- 
centrated ore  have  been  accumulated,  forty  or  fifty 
mules  are  tied  together  neck  to  tail,  loaded  with 
the  bags  and  driven  almost  one  hundred  miles  up 
to  the  plateau.  These  ores  have  always  been  par- 
ticularly rich,  the  gold  and  silver  in  them  having 
been  sufficient  to  pay  the  cost  of  transportation  to 
and  charges  of  the  smelter,  leaving  the  copper  for 
net  profit. 

The  Mexican  owners  have  lived  well  from  the 
fortune  of  their  mines.  In  fact,  to  them  copper 
ore  in  the  ground  has  been  equivalent  of  cash  in 
the  bank.  When  they  have  wanted  money  they 
have  dug  into  their  ore  bed.  They  generally 
smelted  it  themselves  in  crude  clay  furnaces,  using 
charcoal  burned  near  at  hand.  What  of  gold  and 
silver  there  might  be  was  also  run  into  the  copper 
bars  and  the  bars  were  currency.  A  pile  of  bars 
meant  rollicking  jaunts  and  roystering  junkets. 
The  family  and  friends,  the  servants  and  retainers 
were  gathered  together,  muskets  and  swords,  horns 
and  mandolins  were  assembled,  horses  and  pack 
animals  were  loaded  and  bestridden,  and  a  tour 
of  the  surrounding  countryside  was  made.     Bull- 

146 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

fights,  cockfights,  balls  and  fandangoes  were  glori- 
ously enjoyed,  duels  were  fought,  hearts  were 
stormed  and  the  copper  ingots  were  blown  in  even 
to  the  last  ounce.  Then  the  company  would  re- 
turn, the  fast-locked  door  would  again  be  opened 
and  a  new  supply  of  copper  extracted  from  the 
mine.  Like  princes  lived  these  Senores  de  las 
Minas,  so  long  as  the  earth  yielded  up  her  hidden 
treasure. 

At  this  particular  mine,  this  sort  of  thing  has 
been  going  on  for  a  hundred  years.  Generations 
have  come  and  gone  and  come  again,  and  the  ore 
has  not  yet  given  out.  But  the  thrifty  ancestors 
so  managed  it  as  to  pay  only  the  smallest  taxes 
to  the  government.  Why  should  they  pay  good 
money  into  the  itching  palm  of  the  distant  despots, 
who  might  for  the  moment  hold  supreme  power 
in  the  far-off  capital !  The  first  owner  had  "de- 
nounced," (i.  e.  taken  up),  only  half  an  acre.  In 
the  middle  of  this  he  cut  the  doorway  to  the  mine. 
His  descendants  have  always  paid  taxes  on  that 
half  acre  !  The  government  never  asked  for  more. 
Even  Diaz  was  content.  So  the  workings  went  on, 
and  spread  and  ramified  into  the  many  acres  sur- 
rounding the  single  so  well-guarded  entrance.  The 
original  half-acre  had  long  years  ago  been  mined 
out.  And  no^one  ever  entered  the  mine  or  knew  of 
its  depth  or  latitude  except  the  owner,  who  took  the 

147 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

big  key  from  his  belt  each  workday  morning  and 
opened  the  ponderous  wooden  door.  The  Indians 
dug  and  sweated  and  smothered  in  the  hot  depths, 
even  as  their  forbears  had  done.  The  Castrejon 
family  held  fast  to  the  big  key  and  enjoyed  their 
credit  for  unbounded  riches.  La  Mina  el  Puerto 
was  a  busy  place,  and  its  hospitality  was  equal  to 
its  wealth. 

Thus  it  might  have  continued  to  this  day,  but 
for  an  accident  which  happened  two  or  three  years 
ago.  One  stormy  night  two  travelers  sought  shel- 
ter beneath  the  Castrejon  thatch.  In  crossing  the 
llanos  they  lost  their  way  and  their  horse  cast  his 
shoe.  They  discerned  the  light  on  the  mountain 
side  and  came  to  it.  The  courteous  lord  of  the 
mine  gave  them  true  Spanish  welcome.  "All  that 
he  had  was  theirs !"  They  slept  in  his  biggest 
hammocks  and  ate  his  fattest  poios  (chickens). 
The  strangers  were  gringos  (Americans)  and 
"missionaries"  and  one  spoke  excellent  Spanish 
and  the  other  smiled.  El  Seiior  told  them  how 
many  years  he  had  worked  the  mine,  he  and  his 
ancestors,  and  he  boasted,  just  a  little,  of  its  wealth. 
In  the  morning,  rested,  fed  and  smiling,  they  bade 
their  gracious  host  a  parting  adios  as  they  followed 
his  siiperintendente,  who  rode  with  them  to  the 
main  road  from  which  they  had  strayed.  The  mine 
as  usual  worked  on.     The  incident  was  forgotten. 

148 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

A  few  months  later,  one  sultry  evening,  the  grin- 
gos returned  and  with  them  a  mining  inspector 
of  the  Mexican  government  and  a  company  of 
rurales.  The  Fomento  (Department  of  the  In- 
terior) had  granted  to  them  all  of  the  mineral 
rights  surrounding  and  outside  of  the  half  acre 
which  .contained  the  big  door,  Los  Sehores  de 
Castrejon  had  never  had  legal  title  to  any  mineral, 
but  what  lay  under  that  half  acre.  If  ore  had  been 
taken  from  outside  of  that  half  acre,  it  had  been 
stolen  from  the  government  and  dire  are  the  pen- 
alties for  theft  in  this  land  of  the  iron  hand.  And 
what  ore  had  been  taken  from  the  outside  of  that 
half  acre  now  belonged  to  the  two  strangers.  They 
might  sue  in  the  courts  and  recover  the  full  value 
of  it  and  all  legal  costs.  The  two  Americans  were 
very  courteous  as  they  explained  these  matters  to 
El  Sefior.  The  mining  inspector  was  there  to  ex- 
amine the  mine  and  the  rurales  held  in  their  hands 
repeating  rifles  of  the  latest  pattern.  El  Sefior  was 
a  discreet  man.  He  accepted  the  courteous  offer 
of  the  smiling  Americans  that  they  would  not 
prosecute,  provided  he  made  them  a  deed  for  all 
claim  he  had  to  the  half  acre,  the  big  door  and 
whatever  else  he  might  possess.  He  was  pleased 
to  sign  the  deed.  He  then  mounted  his  horse — 
they  gave  him  back  his  horse — and  rode  away  a 
beggar.    Next  morning  the  Americans  put  the  big 

149 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

key  in  the  door,  unlocked  it  and  sent  the  Indians 
down  to  their  daily  toil.  The  mining  inspector  re- 
ceived liberal  recompense  for  his  trouble  and  rode 
contentedly  back  to  the  Tierra  Fria.  The  rurales 
were  induced  to  remain  yet  a  little  while,  as  a  sort 
of  protection  against  unforeseen  mishap. 

The  new  owners  remained  long  enough  to  place 
a  new  native  siiperintendente  in  charge  at  increased 
salary,  and  then  accompanied  the  rurales  upon  their 
return.  But  los  Americanos  were  themselves  gen- 
tlemen who  had  had  to  leave  the  States  in  rather 
hasty  flight,  and  soon  fell  into  feud  among  them- 
selves. One,  I  learn,  is  now  residing  in  a  Mexican 
penitentiary  for  robbing  a  brother  missionary,  and 
the  other,  having  sold  his  own  interest  as  well  as 
that  of  his  partner  to  uninitiated  purchasers  in  Kan- 
sas, has  also  disappeared.  At  the  time  of  our  visit 
the  mines  are  in  the  hands  of  a  receiver  of  the 
courts,  and  the  Kansas  people  are  endeavoring  to 
ascertain  just  "where  they  are  at."  Do  you  won- 
der, when  I  tell  you  that  I  find  throughout  all  this 
ancient  mining  region  a  certain  suspicion  of  visiting 
Americans,  even  on  the  part  of  Mexican  owners 
whose  titles  are  beyond  a  flaw  ? 

Saturday. 

Early  this  morning  Tio  and  I  mounted  Into 
our  saddles  and  with  an  Indian-Mexican  guide 
crossed  the  llanos  to  see  two  quartz  veins  showing 

150 


VAQUEROS  CROSSING  THE  RIO 
DE  LAS  BALSAS 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

copper.  The  veins  are  ''undenounced,"  open  to 
whosoever  may  care  to  take  them  up.  We  did  the 
unusual  thing  of  going  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  and  before  we  returned  the  fierce  sun's  heat 
burnSd  almost  like  flames  of  fire.  I  have  never 
known  anything  but  fire  so  to  scorch.  Even  in  this 
great  heat  we  passed  a  hawk  poised  upon  a  cactus 
top  watching  for  his  prey  and  seemingly  wholly 
unmindful  of  the  terror  of  the  sun. 

After  our  siesta,  we  loaded  the  two  pack  beasts, 
saddled  our  riding  animals  and,  about  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  set  out  for  the  river  Balsas,  two 
miles  to  the  south,  and  to  the  little  town  of  Chur- 
muco  on  its  banks.  From  the  mountain  side  we 
took  a  last  look  over  the  wide  expanse  of  the 
llanos,  extending  twenty  or  thirty  miles  toward  the 
west,  as  levd  as  a  floor,  the  blue  line  of  the  Cor- 
dilleras marking  the  horizon  far  beyond. 

We  passed  through  several  prehistoric,  Indian 
towns.  Their  streets  were  laid  out  with  regularity, 
generally  at  right  angles,  the  foundations  of  the 
ancient  houses  still  plainly  showing.  In  many 
places,  the  base  walls  were  Intact  and  constructed 
of  rounded  bowlders  laid  carefully,  in  a  row,  upon 
one  another  in  substantial  tiers. 

The  rich  bottom  land  along  the  river,  wholly 
uncultivated,  much  impressed  me.  The  soil,  a 
black  and  chocolate  loam,  is  capable  of  bearing  any 

151 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

crop,  and  is  twenty  to  thirty  feet  in  thickness. 
There  was  no  cultivation  anywhere.  These  lands 
belong  to  some  mighty  hacienda  (a  hacienda  con- 
tains often  from  one  hundred  thousand  to  two  mil- 
lion acres)  owned  by  some  absentee  haciendado. 
It  is  said  to  be  worth  about  ten  cents  (Mexican) 
per  acre ! 

The  river  Balsas  looks  as  broad  as  Elk  River 
in  West  Virginia,  where  it  enters  the  Kanawha 
(four  or  five  hundred  feet  in  width).  It  is  now 
the  dry  season,  but,  nevertheless,  the  river  is  swift 
and  deep,  a  tide  of  clear  blue  water  too  swift  and 
too  deep  to  ford  or  swim.  In  the  rainy  season  it 
must  be  a  boisterous  mighty  stream,  for  its  fall  is 
rapid.  In  the  dry  season  it  is  fed  by  the  melting 
snow  fields  of  Popocatepetl  and  Ixtaccihuatl  far 
to  the  east.  The  stream  is  said  to  afford  good  fish- 
ing, and  in  it  veritable  crocodiles  (Cayman) 
abound. 

Approaching  the  river,  we  found  ourselves  at 
a  primitive  ferry  where  two  wild-looking  vaqueros 
were  about  to  cross.  Availing  ourselves  of  this 
opportunity  to  voyage  upon  the  Balsas — Mexico's 
greatest  river — we  tied  our  horses  in  the  shade  of 
a  friendly  mimosa  and  climbed  aboard  the  craft 
used  as  a  ferryboat — a  sharp  pointed  scow  which 
is  entered  at  the  stern.  The  two  Indian  boatmen 
pulled  each  a  ponderous  blade,  but  despite  their 

152 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

most  strenuous  efforts,  the  powerful  current  carried 
us  down  quite  half  a  mile  before  we  landed  upon 
the  farther  shore — a  wide  bar  of  sand  and  pebbles. 
Our  fellow  passengers  eyed  us  in  suspicious  silence, 
each  holding  fast  his  broncho  lest  it  should  jump 
out,  their  wild  dark  glances  betokening  little  friend- 
liness. Reaching  the  shore  each  silently  swung 
into  his  saddle  and  galloped  off  toward  the  not 
far  distant  Cordillera.  These  silent,  untamed  men 
traverse  this  desolate  country  everywhere,  keeping 
constant  track  of  the  thousands  of  cattle  and  horses 
which  roam  their  wastes;  and  the  Indians  of  Guer- 
rero bear  the  name  of  being  the  most  turbulent 
and  treacherous  of  all  Mexico. 

Recrossing,  we  traveled  for  an  hour  through 
rich  and  uncultivated  bottom  lands  along  the  riv- 
er's course,  until  we  came  to  the  primitive  town 
of  Churumuco,  a  hamlet  occupied  by  Indians  only, 
an  Indian  priest  gazing  out  of  the  dilapidated 
church  as  we  rode  by.  Here  we  found  a  fonda 
(inn)  with  ample  corral.  A  half-caste  Spanish- 
Indian  woman,  "Senora  Dona  Faustina,"  cooked 
us  a  supper  of  potatoes,  rice,  tortillas,  and  chilis 
(peppers)  stewed  in  cheese,  substantial  which 
were  washed  down  with  clear  hot  coffee.  Here, 
in  the  intense  heat,  the  burning  peppers  were  viv- 
ifying and  we  ate  them  greedily. 

We  slept  on  native  mats  set  on  frames  three 

153 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

feet  above  the  adoby  floor  in  the  open  patio.  Pigs, 
cats,  chickens,  dogs  and  children  scrambled  be- 
neath. 

We  were  just  rolling  up  in  our  blankets,  when 
Dona  Faustina  excitedly  addressed  my  companions, 
Tio  and  El  Padre,  and  I  gathered  from  her  speech 
that  chinchas,  as  long  as  your  hand,  had  a  habit  of 
crawling  along  the  rafters  and  dropping  upon  the 
unsuspecting  sleeper,  while,  unless  your  shoes  were 
hung  above  the  floor,  tiernanes  (scorpions)  were 
likely  to  camp  in  them  until  dislodged.  I  hung 
my  slippers  above  the  tiernanes  stinging  reach  and 
lay  awake  apprehending  the  chinchas'  descent,  but 
the  fatigue  and  heat  of  the  day,  the  soporific  influ- 
ences of  chilis  and  cheese,  soon  wrapped  me  in  a 
slumber  from  which  only  the  braying  of  our  white 
pack  mule  at  last  aroused  me,  as  Izus  cinched  upon 
him  the  burden  for  another  day.  The  night  was 
warm  and  close,  the  first  dull,  heavy  air  I  have 
known  in  Mexico.  We  were  now  actually  in  the 
Tierra  Caliente — where,  the  saying  is,  "the  in- 
habitants of  Churmuco  need  never  go  to  hell  since 
they  already  live  there." 

It  was  not  yet  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
still  dark.  Ros  and  poios  and  coffee  were  already 
prepared  for  us.  "Adios,  Doha  Faustina!" 
"Adios,  Sehoritar  "Adios,  SehoresI'  "Adios, 
adios!"  and  we  trotted  out  of  the  corral  and,  turn- 

154 


THE  LANDING,  RIO  DE  LAS  BALSAS 


Some  Tropical  Financial  Morality 

ing  northward,  moved  up  a  deeply-cut  baranca 
over  a  more  generally  traveled  trail  than  that  by 
which  we  had  come.  The  coldness  of  night  no 
longer  chilled  us,  the  air  was  almost  warm,  while 
no  sign  of  day  made  mark  upon  the  heavens  above 
us;  the  black  spaces  of  the  night  were  yet  ablaze 
with  great  white  stars.  The  constellations  to  the 
northward  I  well  knew,  but  to  the  south  there  were 
many  wholly  new  and,  supremest  of  them  all,  just 
clinging  along  the  gigantic  mountain  summits, 
shone  the  splendid  constellation  of  the  Southern 
Cross,  my  first  glimpse  of  it.  We  reined  in 
our  horses,  turned  and  watched  the  big  lustrous 
stars  descend  and  disappear  behind  the  impene- 
trable curtain  of  the  Cordillera's  towering  chain. 
The  Balsas  River  was  now  behind  us.  The 
baranca  we  ascended  widened  out.  We  were  upon 
the  well-beaten  track  of  travel  from  Guerrero,  and 
even  Acapulco,  to  the  north.  Ere  the  sun  came 
blazing  up,  we  were  many  miles  on  our  way.  And 
well  for  us  it  was  so,  for  the  day's  heat  has  been 
the  most  terrible  I  have  yet  endured.  The  animals 
did  not  sweat,  nor  did  we,  the  air  was  too  dry 
for  that,  but  my  blood  boiled,  my  bones  baked,  and 
my  skin  parched  from  the  fierce  hotness  of  the  sun. 
Even  the  cowboys  we  here  and  there  encountered 
sat  silent  in  their  saddles  beneath  the  mimosa's  and 
mesquit's  thickest  shade. 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

The  land  was  desolate,  with  no  habitations  save 
here  and  there  a  solitary  rancho  or  wayside  resting 
place,  where  passing  travelers  might  find  rough 
lodgment  and  perhaps  food  for  themselves  and 
beasts.  The  only  sound  was  the  droning  whir  of 
millions  of  cicadas. 

It  was  nearly  midday  when  we  reached  the 
grateful  shelter  of  La  Mina  Noria,  there  to  tarry 
and  revive  until  we  should  fare  on  in  the  cooler 
evening  hours. 


156 


XIV 
Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

MiNA    NORIA    TO    PaTZCUARO, 

December  8th-10th. 

Later  in  the  day  we  were  ascending  the  San 
Pedro  valley  toward  the  Hacienda  Cuyaco.  It 
was  just  growing  dusk  when  we  heard  the  music 
of  violins.  We  came  upon  an  Indian  habitation 
of  two  buildings  connected  by  a  wide,  thatched 
veranda.  Here,  upon  the  veranda,  several  dark- 
faced  youths  were  playing  a  slow-timed  Spanish 
fandango,  and  twenty  or  more  young  girls,  ar- 
ranged in  rows  of  fours,  were  taking  steps  to  the 
music,  swaying  their  bodies  and  shaking  small 
gourds,  filled  with  pebbles,  for  castanets.  The  en- 
thusiasm of  the  musicians,  the  soberness  and  grav- 
ity and  grace  of  the  dancers,  as  they  stepped  and 
postured,  made  a  charming  picture.  They  were 
gowned  in  white,  with  flowers  in  their  black  hair, 
and  they  danced  with  easy  dignity.  We  halted 
our  horses  and  watched  the  grave  company,  no  one 
paying  the  slightest  heed  to  our  presence,  other- 

^S7 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

wise  than  to  acknowledge  our  "Buenas  Dias"  and 
parting  "Adios." 

By  the  time  the  night  came  down  upon  us,  we 
were  far  upon  the  road.  Just  at  the  moment  of 
the  falling  darkness,  we  met  a  band  of  Indians 
with  their  burros.  They  had  halted.  Each  Indian 
had  doffed  his  sombrero.  One  Indian  kneeling, 
was  crossing  himself.  They  were  facing  a  small 
rough  cross  rising  from  a  pile  of  stones.  Each 
threw  one  more  stone  upon  the  pile,  crossed  him- 
self, bent  his  knee,  and  moved  on.  It  was  a  spot 
where  death  has  met  some  traveler.  The  cross 
sanctifies  the  place.  The  stones  permanently  mark 
it  and,  year  by  year,  the  pile  grows  bigger  from 
the  constant  contribution  of  the  one  stone  added 
by  each  passing  traveler. 

The  night  found  us  at  a  primitive  Indian  shel- 
ter; a  thatched  roof  above  an  earthern  clay  stove. 
In  the  corral  several  droves  of  pack  mules  had 
already  been  unburdened  for  the  night.  Beneath 
the  thatch  the  drivers  were  wrapped  in  their 
zerapes  and  slept  profoundly.  We  unrolled  our 
cots,  set  them  out  beneath  the  stars  and  fell  asleep, 
even  as  we  were.  By  two  o'clock  we  were  awak- 
ened before  the  others  were  astir.  We  made  cups 
of  coffee  from  the  hot  water  on  the  stove  where 
the  smouldering  fire  lingered  through  the  night, 
and  were  in  our  saddles  before  the  Southern  Cross 

IS8 


Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

had  sunk  from  view.  We  were  to  make  a  great 
day's  ride,  pressing  on  even  to  Ario,  if  that  were 
possible,  twenty- four  leagues  away  (sixty  miles) 
and  five  thousand  feet  above  us  In  the  air.  Should 
we  be  able  to  do  it? 

By  eight  o'clock  we  reached  the  Rancho 
Cuyaco  and  stopped  to  obtain  delicious  cups  of 
chocolate  and  all  the  oranges  and  bananas  we  could 
eat.  The  cup  of  chocolate  prepared  by  the  Mex- 
ican is  a  delightful  drink.  Each  cup  is  made  sepa- 
rately. The  chocolate  bean  is  pounded  in  a  mortar 
and  just  enough  of  the  vanilla  bean,  which  here 
grows  abundantly,  is  compounded  with  it  to  give 
it  an  exquisite  flavor.  The  chocolate  is  thick  and 
creamy,  and  if  you  would  have  your  cup  re- 
plenished, another  ten  minutes  must  elapse  before 
you  get  It.  No  beverage  is  so  refreshing  to  the 
traveler  as  a  cup  of  this  delicious  chocolate. 

By  nine  o'clock  we  crossed  again  the  river  La 
Playa,  passed  the  Rancho  of  that  name  and  began 
the  great  ascent  toward  the  Tierra  Fria.  I  started 
In  slippers  and  linen  trousers  and  thin  pajama  coat. 
Half  way  up  the  five  thousand  feet,  I  put  on  my 
woolen  jersey;  by  noon  we  were  traversing  the 
forests  of  pine  and  oak  near  Rancho  Nuevo  and 
shivering  from  cold.  There,  heavy  shoes  and 
warm  corduroys  were  donned.     We  forgot  that 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

five  hours  before  we  were  burning  and  baking  in 
the  torrid  heats  a  mile  below. 

At  Rancho  Nuev^o  we  found  ourselves  preceded 
by  an  aristocratic  company  of  ladles  and  gentlemen 
from  the  distant  region  of  La  Union,  near  the 
Pacific, — three  seiiores  and  two  sefioras,  with  a 
number  of  Indian  attendants.  They  rode  fine 
horses,  and  their  saddles  and  trappings  were  of  the 
most  sumptuous  Mexican  make.  The  head  of  the 
company  was  an  elderly  man  wl'th  white  hair  and 
white  beard,  an  haciendado  of  importance.  He 
wore  narrow-pointed,  tan-leather  shoes;  his  legs 
were  encased  In  high  leathern  leggings  reaching 
above  the  knees;  his  trousers  were  tight-fitting, 
laced  with  silver  cords  and  marked  with  silver  but- 
tons along  the  sides;  a  soft  white  linen  shirt  was 
fastened  loosely  at  the  throat  with  a  black  silk 
scarf,  and  a  short  black  velvet  vest  and  a  velvet 
jacket  with  silver  buttons  and  much  silver  braid, 
completed  the  costume.  His  high  felt  sombrero, 
gray  In  color,  bore  upon  the  right  side  a  big  silver 
monogram.  About  his  waist  a  leathern  belt  sup- 
ported pistols,  and  great  spurs  clanked  at  either 
heel.  The  other  two  cahalleros  were  clad  and 
armed  in  like  fashion.  The  ladles  wore  long  rid- 
ing habits  which  they  held  up  with  both  hands 
when  they  walked  about.  There  were  some  fine 
rings   on   the   fingers   of   the    elder   woman,    the 

1 60 


Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

younger  one  wearing  large  hoop-rings  in  her  ears, 
while  a  diamond  flashed  upon  her  left  hand. 
Their  saddles  were  like  chairs,  upon  which  they 
sat  sidewise,  resting  both  feet  upon  a  wooden  rail. 
I  did  not  make  out  whether  they  themselves  guided 
their  animals  with  the  reins,  or  whether  these  were 
led  by  the  long  halter  lines  with  which  the  bridles 
were  fitted  out.  When  we  arrived,  the  kitchen  was 
astir  preparing  dinner  for  these  guests.  Mean- 
time, the  ladies  stretched  themselves  out  upon  the 
wooden  benches  for  their  noon  siesta  and  the  men 
stood  about  in  groups  watching  us  with  suspicious 
mien.  The  truth  is,  the  Mexicans  of  the  better 
class  look  upon  Americans  with  great  doubt.  So 
many  Americans  have  left  their  native  country, 
for  their  country's  good;  so  many  American  scoun- 
drels have  preyed  upon  the  hospitality  of  Mexican 
hosts,  that  the  Mexican  of  to-day  has  learned  to 
require  letters  of  introduction  before  he  shows  the 
stranger  American  the  courtesy,  which  it  is  racially 
instinctive  for  him  to  bestow. 

The  company  first  arrived,  ate,  repacked, 
mounted  and  fared  on  some  time  ahead  of  us,  al- 
though we  hastened  our  own  departure,  cutting 
short  the  midday  interval  of  rest,  in  order  that  we 
might  reach  Ario  ere  night  should  fall. 

During  the  last  few  days  I  have  ridden  my 
mule  without  the  incumbrance  of  the  frightful  bit 
II  i6i 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

and  bridle,  with  which  he  was  at  start  equipped, 
guiding  him  with  halter  alone,  and  I  have  found 
him  all  the  better  pace  maker.  He  is  black  in 
color,  above  the  average  In  size,  and  of  that  su- 
perior strain  for  which  Spain  and  Mexico  have 
long  been  famous,  the  high-bred  riding  mule.  He 
has  proved  worthy  of  his  trust,  for  during  this 
entire  journey  he  has  never  once  stumbled  nor 
made  one  false  step,  however  rough  the  way  or 
precipitous  the  declivity  along  which  we  have 
passed.  To-day,  near  the  journey's  end,  he  Is  the 
superior  beast  of  the  whole  company,  although  at 
the  start  I  was  doubtful  of  my  mount.  This  after- 
noon I  have  lent  him  to  Tio,  whose  heavy  bulk 
has  galled  the  back  of  his  mare.  I  have  exchanged 
my  lighter  weight  to  this  unhappy  animal,  whose 
sores  will  never  be  allowed  to  heal,  and  which  will 
be  ridden  by  successive  travelers  until  wearied  and 
harried  to  its  death. 

It  was  barely  day-end  when  the  white  walls  of 
Arlo  looked  down  upon  us  from  the  slopes  above, 
and  we  were  welcomed  by  our  host  of  the  Hotel 
Morelos  with  the  warmth  of  an  old  friend.  He 
was  particularly  cordial  toward  Tio,  and  I  now 
witnessed,  in  all  its  perfection,  the  embrace  of  old 
acquaintance,  which  is  the  particular  mark  of  re- 
gard among  the  Mexicans.  Our  host  and  Tio 
grasped  their  right  hands  and  shook  them  cordially, 

162 


Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

then  with  hands  still  clasped  each  drew  toward  the 
other,  looked  over  the  other's  left  shoulder  and 
clapped  him  several  percussive  slaps  upon  the  back. 
This  process  was  repeated  at  intervals  several  times 
until  finally  the  two  fell  apart  with  many  bows  of 
profound  esteem.  I  sat  one  morning  on  the  Plaza 
Grande,  before  the  great  cathedral  In  Mexico  City, 
and  watched  two  casual  acquaintance  thus  greet 
each  other;  first,  they  shook  hands,  then  they  em- 
braced, then  they  shook  hands  again,  and  every  few 
minutes  repeated  the  handshake  and  embrace  dur- 
ing the  lengthy  conversation,  each  thereby  seeming 
to  assure  the  other  that  he  was  really  the  friend  he 
made  himself  out  to  be. 

We  had  indeed  arrived  at  Ario.  We  had  made 
a  great  ride  since  early  dawn,  had  been  more  than 
ten  hours  In  the  saddle,  traveling  some  sixty  miles 
and  ascending  five  thousand  and  four  hundred  feet ! 
El  Padre  and  myself  first  entered  the  narrow 
streets,  a  little  later  came  our  mozo,  Izus,  driving 
before  him  our  pack  animals,  and  half  an  hour 
behind  him  came  Tio  and  my  mule.  He  declared 
the  animal  to  be  almost  dead  and  we  feared  It 
might  be  so,  but  the  next  morning,  when  we  made 
ready  to  start  out  again,  we  found  his  mule-ship, 
as  also  the  horses,  in  perfect  fettle,  as  though  no 
long  sweltering  journey  and  monstrous  climb  had 
been  the  toil  of  the  yesterday. 

163 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

The  air  of  the  highlands  was  fresh  and  keen. 
Its  tonic  was  so  invigorating  that  we  forgot  fa- 
tigue, and  made  the  journey  to  Santa  Clara  and 
Patzcuaro  as  easily  as  when  we  first  set  out. 

On  these  highlands  thousands  of  sheep  are 
raised,  and  I  was  interested  to  note  that  of  the 
considerable  flocks  we  saw  grazing  upon  the  wide 
pasture  lands  along  our  road,  the  majority  were 
black.  This  is  said  to  be  the  result  of  Mexican 
neglect.  The  white  sheep  is  the  work  of  art. 
Flocks  are  kept  white  by  weeding  out  the  black, 
but  just  as  hogs  when  let  run  wild  will  revert  to  the 
stronger  color,  so,  too,  the  flocks  of  Mexico,  inas- 
much as  they  have  been  wholly  neglected  from  the 
day  when  Spanish  mastership  was  destroyed,  have 
reverted  to  the  hardier  hue,  until  to-day  the  larger 
percentage  are  black.  To  destroy  these  black 
sheep  now  would  bring  too  great  a  loss. 

In  a  land  like  this,  where  the  horse  and  the 
mule  and  the  burro,  as  well  as  man,  are  the  chief 
means  of  transport,  one  is  continually  surprised  at 
the  heavy  burdens  borne,  and  the  skill  and  care 
with  which  the  loads  are  carried.  A  piano  is  taken 
apart,  packed  upon  a  train  of  mules  and  taken  to 
a  distant  village  or  hacienda.  Elegant  and  fragile 
furniture,  made  in  France  or  other  continental 
countries,  is  thus  conveyed.  In  every  community 
there  are  expert  cabinetmakers,  who  can  repair  and 

164 


Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

put  together  the  most  expensive  furniture,  and  who 
do  the  work  so  deftly  that  it  is  even  stronger  than 
when  originally  made. 

There  is  no  burden  that  a  single  Indian,  or  a 
couple  of  Indians,  or  a  dozen  Indians,  will  not 
bear  upon  their  shoulders  to  any  point  or  any  dis- 
tance you  may  name.  These  loads  and  burdens 
are  carried  with  a  care  and  safety  that  might  be  a 
lesson  to  the  baggage-smashers  and  freight-break- 
ers of  our  modern  railways. 

When  we  drew  near  Patzcuaro,  we  overtook 
multitudes  of  Indians,  men,  women  and  children, 
all  journeying  in  the  same  direction  as  ourselves. 
Upon  inquiry,  we  learned  that  they  were  traveling 
to  Patzcuaro  there  to  take  part  in  the  ^esta  cele- 
bration held  in  honor  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadaloupe, 
the  patron-saint  of  Mexico,  the  Indian  Madonna, 
whom  the  swarthy  citizens  of  the  republic  adore. 
The  nearer  we  approached  the  city,  the  greater  the 
press  of  peones  filling  the  roadways  which  lead  to 
it.  In  the  town  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
these  strange,  wild  people — Tarascon  Indians  most 
of  them — many  having  saved  up  through  all  the 
year  for  this  occasion,  and  now  come  here  to  blow 
in  their  scanty  hoards  in  one  single  week.  A  thou- 
sand games  of  chance  were  in  full  blast.  All  sorts 
of  schemes  were  being  cried,  every  one  of  them 
calculated  to  rob  the  pious  Indian  of  his  uttermost 

i6s 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

centavo.  Along  the  curbs  hundreds  of  little  char- 
coal fires  were  lit,  where  food  was  roasting  over 
braziers.  Men  were  wall^ing  through  the  streets 
with  pigskin  sacks  of  pulque  on  their  backs  and  a 
gourd  cup  in  hand,  crying  "only  a  centavo  for  a 
drink!"  Duke  boys  were  carrying  upon  their 
heads  large  baskets  of  guava  sweetmeats  and  can- 
died fruits.  Bakers  went  by  with  rings  of  bread 
about  their  necks  and  small  rings  of  bread  brace- 
leted  upon  their  anus.  In  the  churches  a  continu- 
ous service  Is  kept  going  all  through  the  day  and 
night,  and  the  pious  gambler  of  the  plaza  has  full 
opportunity  to  rob  the  peon  and  enrich  the  church. 
Along  the  wayside,  groups  of  Indians  are  squat- 
ting, exchanging  gossip ;  hundreds  of  men  are  lean- 
ing against  the  walls,  wherever  the  shade  gives 
refuge  from  the  sun,  silent  and  wrapped  in  bright- 
hued  zerapes,  seeing  all,  but  saying  never  a  word. 
At  the  Fonda  Diligencia,  next  the  big  church,  a 
company  of  gentlemen  of  fortune  from  Mexico 
City,  clad  In  dress  suits  and  stovepipe  hats,  have 
opened  handsome  games  of  Caballos  and  Rouge 
et  Noir,  and  about  these  are  gathered  the  Dons 
and  Donas  of  the  town.  I  see  a  priest  step  to  the 
table,  put  down  his  money  and  make  a  win;  a 
venturesome  Indian,  who  has  eyed  the  padre  ques- 
tioningly,  now  reassured,  also  steps  up,  puts  down 
a  few  centavos  and  loses  all ! 

1 66 


STREET  SCENE— PATZCUARO 


Wayside  Incidents  in  the  Land  of  Heat 

We  rest  again  at  the  Hotel  Concordia.  We 
find  our  room  where  our  baggage  has  been  safely 
stored.  We  take  off  our  corduroys  and  put  on 
fresh  linen  and  appear  again  dressed  just  as  we 
might  be  when  at  home.  Izus  is  sorry  to  say  good- 
bye. We  add  one  half  to  his  pay  for  his  efficient 
service,  and  I  present  him  with  my  large  bowie 
knife  to  his  delight.  I  offer  him  a  double  price 
for  the  fine  fighting  cock  he  has  brought  from 
Noria,  but  this  he  will  not  give  up.  He  has  a 
neighbor  whose  chicken  killed  his  own  some 
months  ago.  He  has  now  found  a  bird  which  will 
give  him  sweet  revenge  and  as  to  selling  it,  money 
has  no  value  in  his  eyes ! 


167 


XV 

Morelia  — The    Capital   of  the   State  of 

Michoacan — Her  Streets — Her  Parks 

— Her  Churches — Her  Music 

Morelia,  State  of  Michoacan,  Mexico, 

December  I2th. 

The  Congress  of  the  great  State  of  Michoa- 
can, as  big  a  state  as  ten  West  Virginias,  with  a 
population  of  six  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  is 
in  session  at  the  State  capital,  Morelia.  It  meets 
three  times  a  week  in  the  Palace.  A  learned  mem- 
ber of  the  bar  and  a  member  of  Congress,  escorted 
me  to  the  dignified  body,  and  formally  introduced 
me  as  "Senor  Licenciado  Ediiardos,  del  Estado  de 
'Quest  Verhinia'  de  los  Estados  Unidos  del 
Norte."  All  the  members  arose  to  receive  me. 
There  is  only  one  chamber.  Its  fourteen  members 
make  all  the  laws  for  Michoacan,  always  subject 
to  the  approval  of  President  Diaz  in  Mexico  City. 
Diaz  decides  who  shall  be  the  fourteen  members. 
He  instructs  the  Governor  of  the  State  to  have 
elected  the  fourteen  men  whom  he  names,  and 
those  fourteen  are  always  chosen,  and  no  others. 

1 68 


Morella 

President  Diaz  also  says  who  shall  be  elected  Gov- 
ernors of  the  different  States,  and  they  are  always 
elected. 

After  this  Congress  had  saluted  me  and  I  had 
bowed  in  response,  we  all  sat  down  in  the  hand- 
some room.  The  fourteen  were  mostly  small  dark 
men  with  good  heads.  The  President  of  the  Con- 
gress was  an  old  man  with  white  hair,  a  wrinkled 
face  and  long  white  miistachios.  He  did  most  of 
the  talking  on  all  measures.  He  kept  his  seat 
while  he  talked.  The  first  business  before  the  Con- 
gress was  "Reports  of  Committees."  Each  mem- 
ber was  a  whole  committee.  Each  comrpittee  made 
a  report,  and  stood  up,  facing  the  President  to 
make  it.  The  chief  matter  under  consideration 
was  a  railroad  concession  to  Americans,  involving 
a  land  grant  of  thousands  of  acres.  The  Congress 
will  grant  it  because  President  Diaz  says  the  rail- 
road should  have  it.  After  an  hour  or  more  of 
talking,  the  Congress  adjourned.  The  members 
came  up  and  were  introduced.  I  shook  hands  sev- 
eral times  with  each  member  and  still  more  often 
with  the  President. 

Adjoining  the  hall  of  Congress  were  several 
large  rooms,  the  walls  hung  with  portraits  of  the 
great  men  of  Michoacan,  who  helped  to  make 
Mexico  free,  and  who  helped  to  destroy  Maxi- 
milian.    This  fine  city  of  thirty-five  thousand  peo- 

169 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

pie  was  formerly  called  Valladolid.  But  when  the 
Spaniards  shot  the  patriot,  Morelos,  ignominiously 
in  the  back,  the  people  changed  its  name  to  Mo- 
relia, — for  Morelos  was  their  fellow-townsman, — 
and  they  clanged  the  church  bells  and  made  bon- 
fires and  illuminated  their  houses  when  the  last 
Spanish  Viceroy  was  driven  from  the  land. 

The  sefior  by  whom  I  had  the  honor  of  being 
introduced  to  the  Congress,  I  afterward  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  more  Intimately  in  his  law 
office,  Sehor  Don  Licenciado  Vicente  Garcia,  Sen- 
ator, Judge,  Counselor  of  State,  and  Lawyer  pro- 
foundly versed  in  the  curious  learning  of  Spanish- 
Mexican  law.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  the  Old 
School,  a  cultivated  Mexican  of  that  small  class 
among  whom  have  been  continuously  preserved 
scholarship  and  learning,  since  the  earliest  advent 
of  the  few  Doctors  of  the  Law,  who  accompanied 
the  first  Viceroys  to  New  Spain.  Men  ripe  in 
mediaeval  scholarship,  apart  from  the  teachings 
and  doctrines  of  the  Canon  Law,  they  have  always 
formed  a  distinct  class  in  Mexico,  even  as  in  Old 
Spain,  and  have  jealously  cherished  that  seed  of  in- 
tellectual independence  from  which  has  successfully 
developed  the  opposition  of  the  State  to  the  inces- 
sant and  covert  encroachment  of  the  Roman 
Church. 

In  Seiior  Garcia's  library  of  well  stored  shelves 
170 


Morella 

I  noted  many  curious  and  ancient  vellum-leaved 
tomes,  containing  some  of  the  earliest  printed  codes 
of  Mexican  law,  as  well  as  treatises  in  French  upon 
the  Napoleonic  Code,  and  there  were  some  few  de- 
cisions, in  French,  of  the  Courts  of  Louisiana. 
There  was  also  a  Blackstone  in  English  and  a  few 
newly  bound  law  treatises  in  that  tongue, — vol- 
umes belonging  to  his  son,  he  said,  who  was  taking 
a  special  course  In  English  in  the  University  of 
the  State. 

Don  Licenciado  Garcia  is  a  short-set  man  with 
whitening  hair  and  gray  moustache  and  Intellectual 
face.  You  at  once  know  him  to  be  the  student  and 
the  scholar,  although  with  dark  glasses  screening 
his  eyes,  he  pathetically  informed  us  that  he  was 
fast  growing  blind.  Indeed,  he  can  no  longer  see 
to  write  or  read,  but  employs  a  reader  and  trusts 
to  his  son  for  all  correspondence,  thus  conducting 
his  large  practice  with  eyes  and  hands  other  than 
his  own.  We  found  him  a  busy  man,  for  In  Mex- 
ico the  courts  are  perpetually  in  session,  and  a  case 
once  on  the  docket  Is  liable  to  be  called  at  any  time. 

There  are  many  such  men  In  the  Mexican  Re- 
public as  Senor  Garcia,  and  to  them  must  really  be 
credited  much  of  the  conservative  disposition  of 
the  government.  They  are  the  conservators  of 
scholarly  liberalism,  and  form  a  community  of  in- 
telligence and  learning  upon  whom  President  Diaz 

171 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

can  always  rely  to  give  assistance  and  direction  In 
sustaining  and  preserving  the  stability  of  the  Re- 
public. 

Morella  Is  a  city  older  than  any  city  of  the 
United  States.  Its  streets  were  paved  before  Bos- 
ton was  out  of  the  swamps,  and  before  Richmond 
was  thought  of.  All  Mexican  cities  are  paved, 
every  street,  every  alley.  A  great  aqueduct,  built 
on  Immense  arches,  brings  an  abundant  supply  of 
sweet,  fresh  water.  There  are  many  beautiful 
parks  In  these  Mexican  cities,  all  kept  In  perfect 
order  at  municipal  expense.  In  them,  flowering 
shrubs,  roses,  geraniums  and  heliotropes,  grown  to 
veritable  trees,  are  ever  In  bloom ;  there  are  orange 
and  lemon,  pomegranate  and  fig,  palm  and  banana 
trees;  there  are  statues  and  flowing  fountains,  and 
great  carved  stone  seats,  all  free  to  the  people. 

There  is  plenty  of  flowing  water  on  these  high 
tablelands,  and  already  Its  power,  harnessed  to  the 
turbine  and  dynamo,  is  giving  the  people  free 
electric  lights.  The  Mexican  towns  and  the  city 
governments  are  run  for  the  benefit  of  the  people. 
There  are  no  monopolies.  If  President  Diaz  hears 
that  a  mayor,  a  city  council,  or  a  Congress  is  not 
running  things  as  he  judges  they  should,  he  just 
hints  to  the  gentleman  to  resign.  If  he  does  not 
comply,  a  polite  Invitation  requests  him  to  come 
to  the  Capital  and  dine  with  the  President.     If  he 

172 


■ 

^^H 

1 

-k»^T3lH^E  '  ^^^E 

H 

4  r flK. 

B| 

Hj 

'"  ^^gr^-jr?  •  rr*  y      ii^^^l^^M 

i2^^al 

H 

H 

H 

_l 
tu 
a: 
o 

I 

< 
cr 

Q 
UJ 

I 
I- 
< 
o 

UJ 

I 


Morelia 

is  not  hungry  and  fails  to  come,  then  a  few  soldiers 
(numbering  in  one  case  a  small  army) ,  come  down 
and  politely  escort  the  gentleman  to  the  dinner. 
He  may  be  shot,  he  may  be  permitted  to  live 
quietly  somewhere  in  the  President's  city  with  a 
soldier  for  a  life  companion, — but  he  never  goes 
home.  An  Ex-governor  of  the  State  of  Guerrero 
has  been  living  in  Mexico  City,  with  a  soldier  for 
a  chum,  these  twenty  years ! 

Mexican  cities  are  clean.  A  man  who  does  n't 
sweep  his  sidewalk,  who  disobeys  a  notice  to  keep 
it  clean,  may  wake  up  in  jail.  There  is  no  "habeas 
corpus"  in  Mexico.  Once  in  jail,  a  man  may  stay 
there  a  lifetime.  And  Mexican  jails  are  not  pleas- 
ant places  wherein  long  to  abide. 

Each  State  is  divided  into  Distritos,  corre- 
sponding to  our  counties.  Each  Distrito,  instead 
of  having  a  county  court  as  do  our  West  Virginia 
counties,  has  a  Jefe  Politico  (Political  Chief)  ap- 
pointed by  the  Governor.  He  keeps  the  peace,  he 
runs  the  county.  If  he  is  a  bad  man,  the  Governor 
with  the  approval  of  President  Diaz,  may  have  the 
/^/^  removed  or  shot.  The /^/^  ("Hefy")  within 
his  Distrito  has  the  power  of  life  and  death.  If 
a  citizen  raises  "too  much  hell"  in  his  precinct, 
the  first  thing  he  knows  he  is  taken  out  in  the 
woods  by  a  band  of  rurales — (rural  police) — and 
promptly  shot,  and  he  is  buried  where  he  falls. 

173 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

A  man  thus  arrested  and  shot  is  said  to  have  "tried 
to  escape  and  been  shot  while  escaping."  No 
questions  are  asked.  The  Jefe  rules  his  Distrito 
with  a  hand  of  steel  in  a  glove  of  velvet,  just  as 
President  Diaz  rules  the  nation. 

Mexico  has  an  able,  intelligent,  if  arbitrary 
government.  She  is  awake.  She  is  progressive. 
I  have  been  amazed  at  the  wealth  and  beauty,  the 
cleanliness  and  comfort  of  her  towns  and  cities, 
at  the  splendor  of  her  capital,  at  the  fertility  and 
variety  of  her  soils  and  climates, — the  perpetual 
spring  of  Arlo  and  Morella  and  Toluca  and  Mex- 
ico City, — the  eternal  summer  and  tropical  heats 
of  the  lowlands  of  the  Tierra  CaUente,  while  be- 
tween the  lofty  highlands  and  the  lowlands  He  the 
temperate  levels,  the  Tierra  Templada,  where  are 
climates  ranging  from  those  of  Cuba  to  Quebec. 

Three  hundred  years  ago  Spanish  civilization 
was  ahead  of  that  of  England  and  Germany.  But 
Spain  and  her  colonies  stood  still.  To-day  our 
Teutonic  peoples  are  In  the  lead.  Progressive 
Mexicans,  who  have  no  love  for  Spain,  know  this, 
and  are  fast  learning  what  we  have  to  teach. 

No  one  thing  has  pleased  me  more  in  this  splen- 
did, opulent  country  than  to  discover  that  every- 
where men  are  eager  to  learn  the  American  tongue. 
That  language  is  taught  In  all  public  schools,  in 
all  the  colleges.    It  Is  the  hope  and  pride  of  every 

174 


Morella 

man  of  means  to  have  his  son  able  to  speak  Eng- 
lish. In  fifty  years,  or  less,  English  will  have 
largely  driven  out  the  Spanish  speech,  and  none 
are  more  eager  for  this  result  than  the  progressive 
ruling  men  of  Mexico. 

Morelia  has  much  civic  pride,  and  above  all 
else  she  is  proud  of  her  music;  proud  of  her  bands. 
Once  a  year  the  musical  Morelianos  have  a  compe- 
tition among  themselves,  and  the  band  declared 
the  winner  is  sent  to  Mexico  City  to  contest  with 
bands  from  other  cities  for  the  musical  pre-emi- 
nence of  the  Republic.  Great  interest  is  taken  in 
these  musical  contests.  For  several  years  the 
champion  band  of  Morelia  has  carried  off  the 
national  prize.  To  play  in  the  band  is  a  mark  of 
distinction,  and  the  band  leader  is  a  local  dignitary. 
The  chief  band  plays  in  the  plaza  throughout  each 
afternoon.  This  park  is  filled  with  fine  trees,  with 
many  flowers,  and  has  several  fountains  and  com- 
fortable seats,  where  you  may  sit  and  listen  to  the 
plash  of  the  tinkling  waters  and  the  moving  mel- 
odies of  the  band.  These  seats  are  free  to  all. 
Then,  too,  there  are  chairs  for  which  the  city  sells 
the  privilege,  and  the  chairs  are  rented  for  cinco 
centavos  (five  cents  Mexican,  equal  to  about  two 
cents  United  States)  per  hour,  for  a  plain  rough- 
bottom  chair;  vicenti-cinco  centavos  (twenty-five 
cents  Mexican)   for  a  big  chair  with  arms.     You 

175 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

pay  your  money,  you  sit  In  your  chair  and  enjoy 
the  music  as  long  as  you  care  to  listen.  Poor  peones 
sit  on  the  free  benches;  those  who  have  the  few 
centavos  to  spare  rent  a  plain  chair.  The  rich 
merchants  and  haciendados  rent  the  big  chairs,  and 
sit  there  with  their  families  gossiping  and  applaud- 
ing the  music  and  watching  the  circling  throngs 
who  walk  around  the  square.  The  sehoritas,  three 
or  four  abreast,  with  chaperons,  walk  on  the  inside 
of  the  broad  pavement.  The  dashing  cahalleros 
and  rancherros,  the  dudes  and  the  beaux,  in  their 
bravest  adornment,  walk  three  or  four  abreast  in 
the  other  direction  on  the  outside.  Young  gentle- 
men may  never  speak  to  young  ladies  upon  the 
streets,  but  they  dart  burning  glances  at  them,  and 
the  black  eyes  of  the  sehoritas  are  not  slow  in  their 
response. 

I  spent  one  morning  viewing  the  markets  and 
watching  the  city  life  on  the  streets.  In  Mexico 
your  social  standing  is  marked  by  the  shoeing  of 
your  feet,  the  covering  of  your  head;  your  boots 
and  your  hats  are  the  two  things  a  Mexican  first 
looks  at  when  approaching  you.  The  Mexican 
loves  to  thrust  his  feet  into  long,  narrow  toothpick- 
pointed  shoes;  the  smaller  and  daintier  the  happier 
he  is.  For  a  hat,  the  costly  sombrero,  for  which 
fifty  to  one  hundred  dollars  are  often  paid,  covers 
the  man  of  means ;  sometimes  a  hat  may  cost  twice 

176 


Morelia 

this  sum.  It  may  be  of  felt,  or  of  expensive 
braided  straw  with  a  band  of  woven  gold  or  silver 
threads  about  the  crown.  Generally,  a  large  gold 
or  silver  monogram  several  inches  high  is  on  one 
side.  I  wore  a  pair  of  broad-soled,  oil-dressed 
walking  shoes,  with  big  eyelet  holes  for  the  laces. 
Substantial  and  comfortable,  they  would  have  been 
quite  correct  in  the  States,  but  the  passing  throngs 
upon  the  streets  stared  with  frank  perplexity  at 
these,  to  them,  extraordinary  shoes.  My  sturdy 
foot  gear  became  the  comment  of  the  town.  As  I 
sat  in  the  park  in  the  afternoon,  several  groups 
of  the  young  and  fashionable  came  up,  and  paus- 
ing, gazed  intently  at  my  novel  footwear.  My 
hat,  a  comfortable  slouch  of  the  trooper  type,  also 
seemed  to  them  of  wonderfully  little  cost — "Only 
five  dollars  for  a  hat!"  "Ciertamente\  El  Sehor 
must  have  paid  more  than  that!"  The  American 
trousers,  not  fitting  tightly  to  the  leg,  were  also  re- 
marked. It  is  complained,  that  the  young  men  of 
wealthy  Mexican  families,  who  are  now  attending 
Cornell  and  Harvard  and  Yale,  instead  of  going 
to  old  Spain  or  to  France,  return  in  these  American 
clothes,  and  insist  upon  wearing  these  loose  Amer- 
ican trousers  to  the  scandal  of  conservative  fashion. 
Among  the  ladies,  however,  the  American  hat  has 
not  yet  conquered  the  mantilla,  and  for  this  I  have 
been  thankful.  The  graceful  mantilla  is  so  at- 
12  177 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

tractive  and  sits  so  daintily  about  the  black-braided 
brow  of  the  sehora  and  the  sehorita  who  pass 
you  by ! 

It  is  against  the  laws  of  Mexico  for  the  relig- 
ious orders  any  longer  to  live  within  the  Republic, 
but  at  Morelia  there  are  said  to  be  several  of  these 
orders  existing  clandestinely.  A  group  of  ladies, 
whom  we  met  at  the  station  of  departure,  all 
quietly  gowned  in  black,  wearing  black  tapalos — 
like  a  rehoso  but  of  more  costly  material — about 
their  heads,  were  pointed  out  to  me  as  a  subrosa 
company  of  nuns. 

Morelia  is  the  seat  of  an  Archbishop.  The 
cathedral  is  a  beautiful  duplicate  of  that  of  Valle- 
dolid,  in  old  Spain,  It  is  kept  in  perfect  repair. 
Within,  it  is  resplendent  with  gold  and  silver  and 
richly  colored  walls  and  roof.  It  possesses  many 
beautiful  statues  of  the  saints  and  one  of  the  finest 
organs  in  the  world.  The  rich  Archbishop  is  said 
to  be  worth  more  than  six  millions  of  dollars 
(Mexican).  He  is  said  to  own  thousands  of  fer- 
tile acres  of  the  best  lands  in  the  State  of  Mich- 
oacan.  (All  of  this  worldly  wealth  the  Archbishop 
holds  subrosa,  contrary  to  the  letter  of  the  law.) 

There  are  several  hundred  churches  in  Morelia. 
Here  Roman  Ecclesiasticism  looms  large  and 
makes  Itself  attractive  to  the  people.  We  attended 
a  night  special  celebration  of  the  Mass  in  a  fine, 

178 


Morelia 

large  church,  dedicated  to  Nuestra  Senora  de 
Guadelupe.  The  church  within  and  without  was 
illuminated  with  thousands  of  electric  lights,  A 
full  orchestra  was  employed,  violins,  cellos  and 
mandolins,  flutes,  cornets,  horns  and  trombones,  a 
fine  organ  as  well  as  a  piano,  while  several  hun- 
dred men  and  boys  cassock-clad,  chanted  and  sang 
in  wonderful  harmony  with  the  exquisite  orches- 
tral music.  Many  of  the  voices  revealed  the  high- 
est cultivation,  and  some  of  the  male  sopranos  rose 
strong  and  sweet  and  clear  as  the  tones  of  a  Nor- 
dica. 

As  we  stood  near  the  portal  of  the  church, 
listening  to  the  music  and  watching  the  multitude 
of  worshipers,  an  Indian,  wild  as  the  Cordilleras 
of  Guerrero,  whence  he  came,  timidly  entered  and 
paused  in  the  marble  portal  as  one  transfixed.  His 
hard,  rough  feet  were  without  sandals.  His  red 
zerape  hung  in  shreds  over  his  tattered,  once  white 
garments.  His  shock  of  black  hair  had  never 
known  a  comb;  and  even  though  at  last  he  doffed 
his  sombrero,  it  was  some  moments  before  he  pulled 
it  off.  He  came  from  the  outer  darkness.  He 
stood  in  the  blazing  glare  of  the  thousand  lights, 
forgetting  to  cross  himself,  listening  to  the  mighty 
melody  of  the  great  chorus  and  many  instruments, 
staring  at  the  brilliant  scene.  His  eyes  grew  large, 
his  face  stiffened,  his  breast  heaved.    He  conceived 

179 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

himself  transported  to  Paradise!  My  Protestant 
missionary  friend  watched  him  as  did  I,  and  then 
turning  to  me,  observed,  "Can  you  wonder  that  the 
Protestant  missionary  is  not  in  it,  when  he  under- 
takes to  compete  with  the  sumptuous  splendor  and 
organized  magnificence  of  ritual  and  edifice  in 
the  Roman  Church?  Our  only  chance  is  to  open 
schools  for  the  children,  take  them  young  and  in- 
struct them  early,  and  then,  perhaps,  when  they 
grow  up,  some  few  of  them  may  have  learned  to 
adhere  to  the  simple  doctrine  and  plain  practice 
of  our  Protestant  teaching." 

The  Jesuits  here  sustain  the  fine  college  of  San 
Nicholas  for  men,  where  Hidalgo  once  taught  and 
Morelos  learned,  and  which,  founded  in  1540, 
boasts  that  it  is  the  oldest  institution  of  learning  in 
the  Americas.  The  Jesuits  also  maintain  a  large 
school  for  young  women.  They  are  endeavoring 
to  resist  the  tide  of  progress  which  is  so  fast  Amer- 
icanizing the  land.  But  even  here  the  upgrowing 
generations  are  giving  steadily  increasing  support 
to  the  policies  of  the  enlightened  and  liberal  men 
now  guiding  the  destinies  of  the  Republic. 


180 


A  WILD  OTOME   IN   FLIGHT   FROM 
MY   KODAK 


XVI 

Morelia  and  Toluca — The  Markets — The 
Colleges — The  Schools — The  An- 
cient and  the  Modern  Spirit 

Toluca,  Estado  de  Mexico,  Mexico, 

December  14th. 

Yesterday  afternoon  at  four  o'clock  I  left  Mo- 
relia by  the  National  Railroad  and  reached  here 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Tio  continued  on 
to  Mexico  City,  but  I  stopped  over  to  spend  the 
day  with  my  friend,  El  Padre,  the  missionary,  who 
has  been  one  of  our  party  to  the  Tierra  Caliente. 

From  my  hotel  Jardin,  in  Morelia,  I  rode  down 
to  the  station  in  a  most  ancient  little  car  pulled  by 
a  single  mule;  the  electric  tramway  has  not  yet 
arrived  at  that  capital. 

It  was  yet  dark  when  I  was  awakened  for 
Toluca.  When  I  left  the  train  the  air  was  cold, 
frosty.  The  city  was  silent,  but  it  was  well  lighted 
with  electricity,  and  a  modern  electric  tram  car 
awaited  me  at  the  station.  Toluca  thus  gave  me 
at  the  hour  of  my  night  arrival  the  impression  of 

181 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

being  more  modern  than  Morelia,  and  this  Impres- 
sion was  borne  out  upon  later  acquaintance. 

Toluca  Is  one  of  the  more  vigorous  of  the  grow- 
ing cities  of  the  republic.  It  is  a  community  of 
some  twenty-five  thousand  people,  the  capital  of 
the  State  of  Mexico,  and  lies  one  thousand  feet 
higher  in  the  air  than  Mexico  City.  It  Is  near  the 
center  of  a  fertile  valley,  forty  or  fifty  miles  In 
length,  and  ten  to  twenty  broad,  while  ten  miles 
to  the  southwest  towers  the  snow-capped  Volcano 
de  Toluca,  lifting  its  gleaming  cone  fifteen  thou- 
sand feet  Into  the  heavens,  its  melting  snows  giving 
an  abundant  supply  of  pure  water  to  the  town. 

The  religious  differentiation  between  Toluca  and 
Morelia  Is  marked.  Morelia  is  one  of  the  six 
cathedral  cities  of  Mexico,  and  is  the  seat  of  one 
of  the  six  Archbishops.  Morelia  Is  also  the  center 
of  Jesuit  activity  in  Mexico.  In  Morelia,  the  Span- 
ish-Mexican takes  off  his  sombrero  when  he  passes 
the  cathedral;  the  Indian  kneels  down  in  the  street 
and  crosses  himself.  The  several  hundred  churches 
are  kept  in  excellent  repair.  Ecclesiasticism  dom- 
inates, the  layman  Is  subordinate.  In  Toluca,  on 
the  contrary.  Church  rule  Is  pushed  aside;  while 
there  are  a  number  of  churches,  they  are  old  and 
most  of  them  dilapidated.  The  foundations  of  a 
great  cathedral,  laid  many  years  ago,  are  now 
overgrown  with  grass  and  bushes.    No  money  has 

182 


Morelia  and  Toluca 

been  forthcoming  from  Tolucan  pockets  to  build 
it  up.  The  governor  of  Toluca  is  among  the  most 
progressive  and  liberal  men  of  the  republic.  His 
administration  maintains  large  schools  and  acad- 
emies for  the  instruction  of  young  men  and  women, 
where  the  sciences  are  taught,  where  enlightened 
thought  rules,  and  where  particular  attention  Is  paid 
to  the  English  language  and  literature.  Several  of 
the  Instructors  are  from  Chicago. 

There  are  many  fine  residences  in  Toluca,  with 
handsome  private  grounds.  The  public  buildings 
are  new  and  imposing;  the  Alameda  Park,  with  its 
groves  and  gardens  and  multitudes  of  birds,  is  as 
beautiful  as  Chapultepec. 

There  Is  also  great  business  activity  in  Toluca 
and  a  number  of  successful  manufactures. 

The  morning  of  my  visit,  I  noticed  an  unusual 
crowd  upon  the  streets.  It  surged  toward  me.  It 
was  respectful  and  quiet.  The  swarthy  company 
were  pressing  to  look  wonderlngly  upon  two  little 
Swedish  girls,  with  the  bluest  eyes  and  pinkest 
cheeks,  and  braids  of  the  most  golden  hair — per- 
fect types  of  the  Scandinavian  North.  They  were 
the  children  of  workmen  imported  from  Sweden 
and  now  teaching  Tolucans  the  skilled  manufacture 
of  iron. 

The  rich  valley,  with  Its  climate  of  perpetual 
spring,  is  the  home  of  a  large  Aztec  and  Otomy 

183 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Indian  population.  These  live  in  many  towns  built 
of  stone  and  adoby,  containing  two  and  three  thou- 
sand souls,  even  yet  speaking  their  ancient  Aztec 
tongue,  knowing  only  Spanish  enough  to  trade. 
They  are  mostly  agriculturists,  and  raise  large 
crops  of  wheat  and  corn,  which  are  borne  to  mar- 
ket upon  the  backs  of  men  and  mules  and  burros. 
We  met  many  such  burden-bearing  cavalcades  en- 
tering the  city,  and  generally  driven  by  Indians  of 
the  wildest  types  we  yet  have  seen.  The  sturdy 
and  rugged  men  are  of  a  stronger  race  than  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Tierra  Caliente  along  the  val- 
ley of  the  Balsas.  These  Indians  run,  not  a  man 
of  them  walks.  They  take  a  quick,  short  step,  a 
sort  of  jog-trot,  which  carries  them  forward  a 
great  many  miles  a  day. 

The  climate  of  Toluca  ig  colder  and  drier  than 
that  of  Mexico  City,  the  town  being  so  much  higher 
above  the  sea.  The  temperature  at  night,  all  the 
year  round,  is  said  to  be  nearly  at  frost,  falling  as 
low  as  thirty-nine  degrees  (Farenhelt).  In  the 
markets  to-day  I  have  seen  oranges,  limes,  tama- 
rinds, apples,  guavas,  hawberrles,  three  sorts  of 
bananas,  strawberries,  and  several  other  fruits  I 
did  not  know,  as  well  as  fresh  peas,  beans,  lettuce, 
turnips,  beets,  potatoes,  sweet  potatoes,  yams,  and 
several  other  edible  tubers.  I  have  also  just  pur- 
chased some  of  the  celebrated  Toluca  lace,  made 

184 


Morelia  and  Toluca 

by  the  Indians,  and  some  pretty  head  shawls, 
(tapalos),  of  native  make.  An  Indian  pottery, 
made  here.  Is  also  attractive — a  brown  and  yellow 
ware,  made  Into  jars  and  water  jugs,  some  of  which 
I  am  sending  to  Kanawha. 

What  a  land  this  country  of  temperate  high- 
lands would  have  become  If  only  our  Puritan  and 
Cavalier  ancestors  had  discovered  and  taken  It! 
But  the  descendants  of  Puritan  and  Cavalier  have 
at  last  found  out  the  charm  and  richness  of  this 
great  country  and,  little  by  little,  are  beginning  to 
come  into  It,  sympathetically  collaborating  with  Its 
people.  Mexico  will  yet  become  a  most  potent  fac- 
tor In  the  world's  affairs.  Progressive  Mexicans 
hope  for  the  day  when  Mexico  will  become  even 
more  closely  knit  to  the  great  Republic  of  the 
North.  Reactionary  Mexicans,  the  conservatives 
of  the  Roman  Church,  dread  and  deprecate  the  Im- 
pending change.  El  Mundo,  chief  newspaper  of 
the  ecclesiastical  party,  continually  declaims  against 
what  It  denounces  as  the  "Peaceful  Conquest,"  of 
Los  Jmericanos. 

In  Toluca  there  was  no  extensive  celebration 
of  the  twelfth  of  December,  "The  Coronation  day 
of  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  the  Indian  Ma- 
donna," to  every  Indian  the  greatest  festival  of 
the  year.  In  Morelia,  on  the  contrary,  just  as 
in  Patzcuaro,  the  town  was  lit  up  from  one  end 

185 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

to  the  other  with  electricity,  with  gas  jets,  with 
lanterns,  with  multitudes  of  candles,  with  torches. 
The  cathedral  and  the  many  churches  were  trimmed 
with  bands  of  fire  along  each  cornice,  up  and  down 
each  belfry  and  tower,  and  all  the  hundreds  of  bells 
were  clanged  discordantly.  The  bells  of  the  churches 
of  Mexico  are  not  swung  and  rung,  nor  have  they 
any  clappers  hanging  in  their  throats.  The  bells 
are  made  fast  in  one  position,  are  struck  with  a  pon- 
derous hammer,  and  distract  the  stranger  with  their 
incessant  dissonance. 

The  illumination  of  Morelia  is  said  to  be  paid 
for  from  the  Archbishop's  chest,  although  each 
layman  is  expected  to  set  out  his  own  candles  before 
his  door.  In  front  of  the  cathedral  a  company 
of  priests  touched  off  elaborate  fireworks.  During 
the  day,  hundreds  of  Indians  came  into  the  city, 
even  as  I  saw  them  entering  Patzcuaro.  They 
camped  along  the  streets,  cooked  at  little  fires  along 
the  curbs,  and  slept  wherever  they  happend  to  be. 
These  Indians  were  chiefly  afoot,  the  women 
brought  their  babies  upon  their  backs,  even  the  old 
folks  were  sometimes  being  carried  along  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  younger  men.  The  thronged  and 
excited  city  was  early  awake.  In  fact,  it  never  slept. 
And  there  were  not  only  the  swarms  of  Indians,  but 
also  groups  of  dashing  haciendados  In  their  high 
sombreros,  short  velvet  jackets,  and  tight-fitting,  sil- 

l86 


Morelia  and  Toluca 

ver-laced  and  buttoned  pantaloones,  all  mingling 
and  promenading  and  celebrating  the  jiesta  of 
Mexico's  patron  saint. 

In  Morelia  no  one  has  yet  dared  to  sell  a  foot 
of  ground  to  the  Protestant  missionaries.  To  do 
so  would  mean  the  seller's  ruin. 

In  Toluca  the  Protestant  Church  (the  Bap- 
tists) have  purchased  buildings  and  opened  a  fine 
school  for  boys  and  girls,  which  is  become  the 
pride  and  life  work  of  El  Padre. 

So  many  smooth  and  cunning  scoundrels  have 
fled  to  Mexico,  there  to  hide  from  American  jus- 
tice, that  the  Mexican  has  begun  to  doubt  us  all. 
Hence  it  is  doubly  gratifying  when  one  finds  here 
honored  and  esteemed  the  better  type  of  our  en- 
lightened citizenship  like  El  Padre,  and  some  others 
whom  I  have  met. 


.187 


XVII 

Cuernavaca — The  County  Seat  of  Monte- 
zuma, of  Cortez  and  Spanish  Viceroys, 
of  Maximihan — A  Pleasant  Water- 
ing Place  of  Modern  Mexico 

Hotel  Iturbide,  Mexico  City, 

December  17  th. 

This  is  my  last  night  in  Mexico  City.  I  shall 
leave  here  to-morrow,  Wednesday,  at  9.30  P.  M., 
by  the  Mexican  Railway  for  Vera  Cruz.  I  will 
reach  there  in  time  for  breakfast,  board  the  Ward 
Line's  steamer,  Monterey,  and  sail  about  noon  for 
Havana,  via  Progresso,  Yucatan. 

I  delayed  my  departure  until  the  evening,  in 
order  that  I  might  visit  Cuernavaca  and  have  a 
glimpse  of  that  famous  watering  place  and  the  rich 
valley  wherein  it  lies — where  Montezuma  and  his 
nobles  held  luxurious  court,  where  Cortez  made  his 
winter  residence,  and  Maximilian  erected  a  lovely 
villa  for  his  Empress  Carlotta ;  and  which  is,  to-day, 
the  favorite  resort  of  fashionable  Mexico.  My 
passes  would  have  taken  me  a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  further  along  the  river  Balsas — two  hundred 

188 


SUSPICIOUS   OF    MY   CAMERA 


Cuernavaca 

miles  above  where  I  saw  it  at  Churumuco — but 
limited  time  prevented  my  going  so  far,  and  I  con- 
tented myself  with  the  lesser  journey. 

I  took  the  train  this  morning  for  Cuernavaca, 
at  the  large  station  of  the  Mexican  Central  Rail- 
way. I  sat  In  a  drawing-room  car,  as  new  and  com- 
fortable as  though  just  leaving  Chicago  or  New 
York.  Quite  a  party  of  the  ladies  of  the  American 
Colony  went  down  with  me;  along  with  them  were 
several  gentlemen,  who  seemed  to  belong  to  the 
diplomatic  corps,  and  among  these  was  the  Swedish 
Consul,  with  whom  I  made  conversation  in  Ger- 
man and  French. 

The  railway  leaves  the  city  on  the  east  side, 
curves  to  the  north,  and  circles  around  the  north- 
ern suburbs,  until  it  begins  to  climb  toward  the 
southwest. 

As  we  rise — a  four  per  cent,  grade — the  fer- 
tile and  beautiful  valley  of  Anahuac,  in  which  Mex- 
ico City  is  situatedj  spreads  out  before  me.  The 
big  white  city,  its  red  and  black-tiled  roofs,  its  many 
domed  and  towered  churches;  the  numerous  lesser 
towns  and  villages  scattering  out  into  the  bowl-like 
valley;  the  shimmering  surfaces  of  lakes  Tezcoco, 
Xochimilco,  and  Chalco,  and  bordering  ponds;  the 
plantations  of  dark  maguey;  the  orchards  of  citrous 
fruits;  the  Innumerable  gardens,  floating  gardens 
some  of  them,  from  which  are  gathered  the  fresh 

189 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

vegetables  dally  displayed  In  the  city's  several  mar- 
kets; the  dark  green  groves  of  the  splendid  cypress 
of  the  Alameda  and  of  Chapultepec,  as  well  as  the 
palace  Itself,  perched  high  upon  its  rocky  base;  the 
circling  ranges  of  lofty  mountains,  and,  in  the  far 
southern  distance,  the  mighty  volcanoes  of  Popo- 
catepetl and  Iztacclhuatl,  snow-crowned  and  glit- 
tering with  dazzling  refulgence  in  the  light  of  the 
morning  sun, — all  these  made  a  picture  as  grand 
and  imposing  as  any  landscape  I  have  seen  or  may 
ever  see,  and  as  astonishing  in  its  contrasts  of  light 
and  shadow,  of  green  semitropical  valley  and  ice- 
bound heights. 

For  several  hours  we  crept  slowly  upward, — 
the  views  and  vistas  ever  changing.  Everywhere 
there  were  plantations  of  maguey,  and  everywhere 
at  the  stations  Indian  women  were  selling  fresh 
pulque  to  the  thirsty  travelers  of  the  train.  Then, 
little  by  little,  as  we  were  lifted  above  the  warmer 
airs,  w^e  came  into  the  altitude  of  the  oaks,  exten- 
sive forests  of  well-grown  oaks,  and  then  yet  higher 
we  came  into  splendid  forests  of  pine.  The  moun- 
tains now  lost  the  smoothness  of  surface,  which 
marked  the  lower  slopes.  We  came  into  wide 
reaches  of  volcanic  ash,  tufa,  beds  of  lava,  all 
rough  and  sharp  pointed,  with  deep  cavernous 
clefts  between,  apparently  lying  just  as  they  fell 
and  flowed  and  hardened  uncounted  centuries  ago. 

190 


Cuernavaca 

Upon  reaching  the  summit,  attaining  an  alti- 
tude of  over  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  we  traversed  for  many  miles  a  grassy  table- 
land, where  were  herds  of  the  long-horned  cattle, 
and  flocks  of  the  thin-wooled  sheep  with  their  keep- 
ers. Running  parallel  to  our  track  extended  the 
ancient  Royal  Turnpike,  built  long  ago  by  Monte- 
zuma and  maintained  by  Cortez  with  the  labor  of 
his  conquered  Aztec  slaves,  and  still  called  "El 
Camino  Real  del  Rey."  On  the  very  summit  of 
the  height  of  land  stood  the  ruins  of  an  old  road- 
house  and  towered  fortress.  Here  Cortez  placed 
his  soldiers,  and  here  garrisons  of  troops  have  ever 
since  remained  to  guard  the  public,  to  protect  the 
royal  mails,  to  preserve  the  dignity  of  the  Republic, 
and  even  to-day  to  save  the  railroad  trains  from  be- 
ing held  up  by  modern  bandits  as  bold  and  merci- 
less as  their  predecessors  of  bygone  centuries.  It 
is  the  tradition  concerning  these  heights  that  they 
have  always  been  the  rendezvous  of  tribes  and 
bands,  whose  immemorial  privilege  and  occupation 
it  has  been  to  kill  and  rob.  Gruesome  are  the  tales 
to-day  related  of  the  murders  and  plunderings 
which  once  were  of  almost  daily  occurrence,  and 
sometimes  do  yet  occur  along  this  famous  road. 
Even  now,  I  notice  the  camp  of  soldiers  in  perma- 
nent quarters  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  crumbling 
tower.     Diaz,  of  the  iron  hand,  takes  no  chances 

191 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

with  the  turbulent  residents  of  these  mountain  sol- 
itudes !  All  along  we  are  among  the  ancient  lava 
beds,  while  always  lifting  Into  the  deep  azure  sky 
far  out  to  the  left,  glitter  the  snow-clad  summits 
of  Iztaccihuatl  (Ista-se-wahtl)  and  Popocatepetl. 
They  appeared  to  be  close  to  us,  and  yet  we  never 
came  any  nearer  to  them, — although  we  steamed 
toward  them  almost  half  a  day. 

The  descent  was  rapid — we  came  down  nearly 
five  thousand  feet  in  an  hour  and  a  half — into  a 
most  lovely  verdant  valley,  two  thousand  feet 
lower  than  Lake  Tezcoco.  Here  grew  great  crops 
of  sugar  cane,  bananas,  coffee,  and  oranges,  limes 
and  pomegranates — a  profuse  verdure.  The  val- 
ley, from  ten  to  twenty  miles  in  width,  stretched 
away  in  broad  sweeping  curves  both  east  and  west, 
while  through  It  flowed  the  upper  waters  of  the 
River  Balsas.  Here  the  river  takes  Its  rise  from 
the  fountains  of  the  melting  snowfields  upon  the 
volcano's  distant  flanks.  The  valley  is  one  of  the 
most  fertile  and  salubrious  in  all  Mexico.  Cortez 
seized  upon  It  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  wrested 
Tenochtitlan  from  Montezuma's  grasp.  What  he 
did  not  take  for  himself,  he  divided  out  in  liberal 
gifts  among  the  great  captains  In  his  train,  grant- 
ing to  them  immense  haciendas,  farms  fifty  miles 
across,  embracing  lands  of  unbounded  fertility, 
even  then  smiling  beneath  the  care  of  skillful  till- 

192 


Cuernavaca 

ers  of  the  soil.  The  best  of  these  monstrous  estates 
are  still  owned  by  families  descended  from  the  Con- 
questadores.  The  lands  originally  were  all  subject 
to  the  law  of  entail,  and  the  laws  are  still  upon 
the  statute  books.  Here  are  famous  prehistoric 
ruins,  among  them  those  of  the  ancient  pyramid 
and  temple  of  Xochlcalco  and  many  hieroglyphics 
dating  back  to  an  antiquity  more  remote  than  the 
memory  of  even  the  Aztec  people.  Here  also  are 
the  caves  of  Cacahuamllpa,  equally  famous.  The 
great  ruins,  lying  a  day's  journey  from  the  city,  I 
did  not  have  a  chance  to  see. 

My  glimpses  of  the  town  of  Cuernavaca  were 
but  flashlight  peeps.  The  station,  where  we  finally 
arrived,  after  descending  by  a  long  series  of  ziz- 
zags  and  sweeping  curves,  lies  a  good  mile  outside 
the  city.  Here  a  motley  assemblage  were  gathered 
to  greet  our  advent,  an  array  of  cochas,  voitures, 
and  cabriolets,  drawn  by  dusty,  uncurried  mules 
and  horses.  Remembering  my  experience,  when 
last  arriving  in  Mexico  City,  I  hurried  to  an  antique 
vehicle,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  mules,  and  bargained 
with  the  young  cochero  that  he  should  drive  me  to 
and  about  the  city  of  Cuernavaca  and  bring  me 
back  to  the  station.  This  after  some  haggling,  he 
agreed  to  do,  all  for  one  peso  (Mexican  silver  dol- 
lar) .  I  climbed  into  the  dusty  equipage.  The 
cochero  swore  at  his  mules  In  sonorous  Spanish, 

13  193 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

and  cracking  his  long-lashed  whip,  started  them  on 
a  full  run  down  the  wide  camino,  amidst  a  cloud 
of  white  dust.  Thus  we  entered  the  city  and  thus 
we  proceeded  through  streets  narrow  and  broad, 
until  we  had  traversed  and  circled  and  driven 
through  the  chiefer  part  of  it.  He  never  stopped 
his  swearing,  he  continually  cracked  his  whip,  and 
the  mules  never  slackened  in  their  wild  gallop 
throughout  the  happy  hour  he  was  in  my  employ. 
There  are  no  sidewalks  in  these  Spanish  towns. 
Men  and  women  bolted  from  our  onward  coming, 
children  fled  into  open  doorways,  and  dogs  and 
chickens  and  lank  hogs  scattered  before  us  as  chaff 
before  the  wind.  We  rattled  past  the  one-time 
palace  of  Cortez,  afterward  of  Carlotta,  Maximil- 
ian's ill-fated  mate,  and  now  used  as  the  State 
Capitol.  We  circled  the  pretty  plaza  with  its  flow- 
ers and  palms  and  tropical  gardens  and  splashing 
fountains.  We  viewed  the  monstrous  cathedral,  all 
dilapidated.  We  drew  rein  a  moment  before  the 
shrine  of  the  Virgin  of  Guadeloupe,  kodaked  it, 
and  swung  along  In  front  of  tne  old  church  of  the 
Franciscans. 

My  cochero  seemed  to  gain  enthusiasm  with 
each  bounce  of  the  cocha.  He  clamored  continu- 
ally In  v^oluble  and  quite  Incomprehensible  Indian- 
Spanish.  The  narrower  and  more  ill-paved  the 
street  the  more  violently  did  he  lash  the  mules  like 

194 


Cuernavaca 

one  possessed.  A  pair  of  pretty  sehoritas,  on  their 
balcony  smiled  upon  me  as  we  passed,  and  I  ko- 
daked them  in  courteous  acknowledgment  of  their 
good  will;  we  beheld  where  the  famous  baths  of 
Cuernavaca  have  for  centuries  been  taken,  and  I 
had  pointed  out  to  me  the  magnificent  and  exten- 
sive Borda  Gardens,  where  flowers  and  fruits, 
fountains  and  cascades,  marble  basins  and  minia- 
ture lakes  express  in  utter  riot  the  prodigal  and 
exuberant  fancies  of  an  ancient  half-mad  million- 
aire; and  still  proceeding,  never  stopping,  we  at  last 
whirled  back  amidst  even  greater  clouds  of  dust 
to  the  railway  station,  just  in  time  to  catch  the 
train.  Another  motley  throng  was  gathered  there. 
Half  of  the  town  seemed  to  have  turned  out  to  see 
the  other  half  depart.  Along  the  platform  were 
many  Indians  selling  fruit  and  compounding  those 
curious  peppered  sandwiches,  which  so  delight  the 
seasoned  palate  of  the  Mexican.  By  this  time  the 
lining  of  my  own  mouth  having  become  somewhat 
inured  to  these  fierce  foods,  I  let  an  old  Indian 
crone  make  for  me  a  particular  combination  of 
bread  and  oil  and  pepper  and  cucumbers  and  highly- 
seasoned  and  minced  meat,  only  daring  to  eat  it, 
however,  when  I  had  entered  my  car  again,  so  that 
I  might  be  in  close  neighborhood  to  copious  sup- 
plies of  water.  The  Mexican  delights  in  this  sort 
of  burning  sustenance,  and  for  him  it  can  never 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

be  made  too  spiced  and  too  hot.  On  the  platform 
of  the  station  there  were  also  many  Mexican  ladies 
of  quality,  come  to  say  good-bye  to  husbands  and 
brothers,  who  were  returning  to  the  capital.  None 
of  them  wore  hats,  but  the  graceful  mantillas  were 
universally  in  use,  and,  generally,  the  gowns  were 
black. 

Cuernavaca  with  its  baths  and  mineral  waters 
is  the  favorite  of  all  the  resorts,  easily  accessible 
to  the  fashionable  Mexican.  Here  also  almost 
continually  resides  a  large  colony  of  the  European 
ladies  whose  husbands  do  business  in  Mexico  City, 
the  high  altitude,  thin  air,  and  chilly  temperature 
of  which  rarely  agree  with  the  health  of  the  wo- 
men who  come  there  from  the  lower  sea  levels. 
The  men  can  stand  It  from  the  first,  if  their  hearts 
and  lungs  are  sound,  but  the  women  are  often  sent 
to  Cuernavaca,  there  to  sojourn  until  they  become 
accKmated  to  the  conditions  of  these  highland 
plateaus.  The  harsh  climate  of  Mexico  City  is 
particularly  cruel  to  all  convalescents;  hence  in- 
valids also  come  here  to  regain  their  strength. 
Thus,  there  is  much  travel  upon  the  railway  be- 
tween the  capital  of  the  republic  and  its  most 
salubrious,  near-by  resort. 

It  was  afternoon  when  we  drew  out  of  Cuerna- 
vaca for  the  long  climb  to  the  height  of  land.  As  we 
ascended,  the  evening  shadows  were  lengthening 

196 


Cuernavaca 

and  creeping  out  from  every  cleft  and  hollow  along 
the  mountain  sides;  and  toward  the  east,  splitting 
the  blue  sky,  towered  Popocatepetl.  The  most 
profound  impression  of  my  sojourn  in  Mexico,  a 
memory  which  will  follow  me  through  life,  is  that 
of  the  mighty,  glittering,  distant,  yet  ever-present, 
snow-bound  cone  of  Popocatepetl. 

As  we  crossed  the  height  of  land  and  began  our 
descent,  the  long  evening  shadows  filled  the  great 
valley  of  Anahuac,  while  forth  from  every  vale 
and  hollow  crept  little  bunches  of  cloudlike  mist, 
until  at  last,  with  strange  and  weird  effect,  the  as- 
sembled vapors  shut  from  my  vision  the  whole 
extent  of  the  valley  beneath,  and  made  it  seem  as 
though  we  were  plunging  into  the  unfathomable 
depths  of  a  white  sea.  The  land,  the  lakes,  the 
towns,  the  villages,  and  the  city  were  hid  beneath 
the  impenetrable,  fleecy  cloud-billows. 

It  was  dark  when  we  entered  the  city.  I  took  a 
cocha,  and  I  am  here  again  in  my  stone-walled 
chamber  of  the  hotel.  I  entered  the  city  from  the 
north,  I  now  leave  It  by  the  east,  along  the  route 
which  was  traversed  by  the  invading  conquerors 
from  old  Spain,  when  four  hundred  years  ago  they 
came  up  from  the  placid  waters  of  the  sea,  a  dread- 
ful apparition,  bringing  death  in  their  mailed  fists, 
and  pestilence  and  cruel  enslavement  to  a  proud 
and  ruling  race. 

197 


XVIII 

The   Journey   by   Night   from    Mexico 

City — Over  the  Mountains  to  the 

Sea  Coast — The  Ancient  City 

of  Vera  Cruz 

Vera  Cruz,  Mexico, 

December  19th. 

Last  night  was  to  be  my  final  one  in  Mexico, 
and  as  a  troupe  of  Spanish  actors  was  billed  at  one 
of  the  larger  theaters,  I  went  to  see  the  play.  There 
are  a  number  of  playhouses  In  the  city,  and  pater- 
nal government  Is  laying  the  foundation  for  an 
opera-house  which,  it  is  announced,  will  be  one  of 
the  most  "magnifico"  In  the  world.  The  theater 
we  attended  was  one  of  the  largest,  and  the  actors, 
Spaniards  from  Barcelona,  were  filling  a  season's 
engagement.  In  purchasing  tickets,  the  first  nov- 
elty was  the  separate  coupons  which  are  Issued  for 
each  act.  You  buy  for  one  act  or  another  as  you 
prefer.  The  Mexicans  rarely  stay  the  play  out, 
but  linger  for  an  act  or  two  and  then  depart.  There 
are  tiers  of  boxes  around  the  sides,  in  which  were 
many  men  and  ladies  in  evening  dress,  the  belles 

198 


AZTEC    INDIANS— MEXICO   CITY 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

and  beaux  of  the  city.  We  sat  among  the  occu- 
pants of  the  seats  upon  the  floor,  the  greater  part 
of  whom  were  men.  The  first  noticeable  differ- 
ence between  the  audience  here  and  that  at  home  is 
that  every  man  keeps  on  his  hat  except  when  oc- 
cupying a  box.  It  is  bad  enough,  we  think,  for  a 
woman  to  retain  her  hat  or  bonnet,  but  imagine 
how  it  is  when  you  are  confronted  by  multitudinous 
high-peaked  broad-brimmed  sombreros  of  the  most 
obtrusive  type.  The  excuse  for  the  wearing  of 
these  great  hats  upon  all  occasions  is,  that  in  the 
chilly  air  of  these  high  altitudes,  it  becomes  a  nec- 
essary protection. 

The  faces  about  me  were  dark;  even  the  men 
in  the  boxes  were  of  darker  color  than  would  be 
those  of  the  pure  Spanish  blood.  The  women  are 
also  dark,  their  color  much  darker  than  that  of  the 
usual  mulatto  in  the  States.  This  is  due  to  the 
large  infusion  of  Indian  blood  among  the  Mexican 
people,  even  among  the  leisure  classes. 

The  actors  were  of  the  bpanish  swarthy  type, 
but  among  the  actresses,  there  were,  as  always,  two 
or  three  with  conspicuously  red  heads,  the  Vene- 
tian red  so  pronounced  and  popular  among  the  Lon- 
don shopgirls.  These  red  headed  belles  received 
the  entire  attention  and  applause  of  the  male  portion 
of  the  audience.  The  4iudience  also  smoked  inces- 
santly, the  gentlemen  large  Mexican  cigars,  the 

199 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

ladies  their  cigarettes.  The  right  to  smoke  is  an 
inalienable  privilege  of  both  sexes  in  Mexico,  the 
women  using  tobacco  almost  as  freely  and  con- 
stantly as  do  the  men.  The  acting  was  good,  and 
some  of  the  fandango  dances  brought  thunders  of 
bravos.  The  pauses  between  acts  were  long.  In 
one  of  the  intervals  we  sauntered  out  upon  the 
streets,  where  a  mob  of  ticket  brokers  so  assailed  us 
and  bargained  so  successfully  for  our  remaining 
coupons,  that  we  sold  them  at  an  advance  over  the 
figure  we  had  paid.  The  plays  begin  early,  about 
seven  o'clock,  and  the  doors  stay  open  until  mid- 
night, the  constantly  changing  audiences  giving  to 
the  actors  fresh  support. 

On  a  previous  night  we  visited  another  theater, 
where  a  more  fashionable  company  gathered  to 
see  the  well-known  Frenchman,  Frijoli,  in  his  clever 
Impersonations  of  character.  Here  were  assembled 
Mexico's  most  fashionable  set,  among  them  a  party 
of  distinguished  South  Americans  attending  the 
Pan-American  Congress,  the  ladies  from  Brazil, 
Argentina,  and  Chili  wearing  costly  diamonds, 
and  being  in  full  decollete  attire. 

Here  also  the  sombrero  reigned  supreme  in 
dress  circle  and  on  parquet  floor,  and  smoking  was 
everywhere  indulged  in. 

Yesterday  was  to  be  my  last  day  in  Mexico.  I 
started  out  in  the  morning  to  lay  hold  of  a  good 

200 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

opal  and  try  my  luck  in  buying  mantillas.  From 
the  young  woman  in  the  shop  where  I  had  had 
my  kodak  films  prepared,  I  learned  the  location  of 
an  establishment  where  mantillas  were  sold.  She 
could  not  talk  to  me  in  my  own  tongue.  I  was 
puzzled  what  to  do,  then  an  idea  came  to  me.  I 
took  out  a  pencil  and  paper.  I  handed  them  to 
her.  I  indicated  by  signs  that  I  would  have  her 
make  a  picture.  Quick  as  a  flash  she  interpreted 
my  thought.  She  laughed,  and  drew  for  me  a  per- 
fect little  map,  showing  the  shop  wherein  I  stood, 
the  street  it  opened  out  upon,  the  streets  and  blocks 
I  should  follow  until  I  came  to  the  place  where  the 
mantillas  were,  and  she  marked  my  final  corner  with 
an  "X."  I  bowed  to  her  profoundly,  saying,  many 
times,  "Muchas  gracias,  mil  gracias,  seiiorita,"  and, 
with  paper  in  hand,  started  on  my  quest.  I  had  no 
trouble  in  finding  my  way.  I  finally  halted  before  a 
big  French  retail  dry  goods  store.  All  dry  goods 
establishments  here  are  either  French  or  Spanish, 
just  as  the  hardware  and  drug  stores  are  all  Ger- 
man; the  native  Mexican  is  not  keen  in  trade,  and 
but  few  business  houses  are  his. 

It  was  a  large  concern,  and  many  customers 
were  passing  in  and  out.  A  number  of  clerks,  all 
men, — I  have  seen  no  woman  clerks  anywhere — 
were  standing  behind  long  tables,  while  the  public 
moved  up  and  down  between.    I  repeated  the  word 

201 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

mantilla,  and  was  shown  to  where  were  many  shelv^es 
filled  with  flat  pasteboard  boxes.  Several  of  these 
were  taken  down  and  the  beautiful  pieces  of  lace 
shown  me.  As  I  stood  there,  in  a  quandary  what 
to  select,  a  pleasant-faced,  short,  stout  man  with 
a  dark-haired  woman  approached  me.  As  they 
Reared  the  table,  she  turned  to  him  and  said  in  good 
United  States,  "O,  here  are  the  mantillas  we  are 
looking  for."  Her  appearance  attracted  me,  and 
so,  turning  to  her  and  lifting  my  hat,  I  bowed  and 
begged  her  aid.  He  and  I  then  exchanged  cards. 
He  was  a  Dr.  S.,  of  Washington,  for  many  years 
physician  to  Mrs.  T.,  whose  wedding  I  attended 
two  years  ago,  making  geological  studies  in  Mex- 
ico, and  soon  going  to  Central  America.  We  were 
at  once  friends.  He  was  gathering  information 
for  the  Smithsonian  Institution.  The  lady  was  his 
wife.  She  aided  me  in  selecting  two  lovely  man- 
tillas of  black  silk.  Later,  they  accompanied  me 
in  my  search  for  opals,  and  helped  me  choose  sev- 
eral fine  stones.  Afterward,  at  their  hotel,  the 
Jardin,  they  showed  me  their  collection  of  photo- 
graphs, and  many  of  the  mementoes  and  curios 
they  were  collecting.  In  the  afternoon  we  dined 
together  at  my  Creole  restaurant.  At  last,  we 
parted,  with  mutual  regret. 

The  train  which  bore  me  from  the  city  left  the 
station  of  the  Mexican  Railway   ("The  Queen's 

202 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

Own"),  about  nine  o'clock  P.  M.  It  Is  a  standard 
gauge  railroad.  I  had  a  comfortable  lower  berth  In 
the  Pullman.  The  car  was  crowded.  Several 
young  officers  In  their  smartest  uniforms  were  say- 
ing adios  to  a  number  of  black-eyed  sehoritas  and 
their  mammas.  The  young  men  at  parting, 
wrapped  wide  scarfs  about  their  mouths,  almost 
hiding  their  faces  up  to  their  eyes,  a  common  prac- 
tice used  against  pneumonia.  The  night  air  was 
cold.  I  wore  my  overcoat,  and  shivered  where  I 
stood  upon  the  rear  platform  of  the  car  watching 
through  many  miles  the  city's  receding  lights.  We 
traversed  the  valley  toward  the  east,  and  then 
began  to  climb  the  lower  slopes  of  the  mountain 
range  we  must  cross  before  we  should  finally  de- 
scend to  Vera  Cruz. 

When  I  awoke  In  the  morning  we  were  yet 
three  hours  from  the  Gulf.  We  had  crossed  the 
mountains  In  the  night;  we  had  ascended  three 
thousand  feet,  and  come  down  eleven  thousand 
feet,  through  wild  and  beautiful  scenery;  a  journey 
never  to  be  taken  by  night,  unless  necessity  demands. 
We  were  more  than  two  hours  late,  having  been 
detained  at  Orizaba,  while  we  slept.  This  was  for- 
tunate for  me,  for  It  gave  me  the  daylight  hours 
to  view  the  lowlands  through  which  the  road 
passes  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea. 

Back  of  us,  high,  high  into  the  cloudless  blue 
203 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

sky,  glittered  the  snowy  peak  of  Mexico's  greatest 
volcano,  the  lofty,  mighty  Orizaba,  now  known  to 
be  higher  than  Popocatepetl,  and  much  like  It  In  the 
contour  of  Its  cone;  a  most  Imposing  sight  as  It 
shone  In  the  light  of  the  rising  sun.  Wherever 
we  turned,  wherever  we  went,  mighty  Orizaba  fol- 
lowed us.  We  never  lost  sight  of  It,  we  could  not 
escape  its  stupendous  bulk.  I  am  fortunate  to  have 
seen  four  of  the  chief  snow-capped  volcanoes  of 
Mexico,  and  to  have  fine  photographs  of  them  all 
— Popocatepetl,  Ixtacclhautl,  Nevada  de  Toluca, 
and  Orizaba. 

The  lowlands  we  were  traversing  are  wholly 
tropical;  we  were  among  extensive  plantations  of 
bananas,  palms  of  many  sorts,  coffee  orchards,  and 
impenetrable  jungles.  The  sun  was  as  hot  as  upon 
the  llanos  along  the  river  Balsas  in  Michoacan. 

It  was  half-past  nine  when  the  train  pulled  into 
the  station  at  Vera  Cruz.  A  big  negro,  black  as 
night,  dressed  In  Immaculate  white  duck,  collared 
me  the  very  Instant  my  feet  touched  the  ground. 
He  spoke  In  soft,  smooth  English,  with  marked 
British  accent.  He  Introduced  himself  as  "Mr. 
Sam."  "I  am  a  British  subject  from  Jamaica,"  he 
said,  "and  representative  of  the  Hotel  Metropol- 
itan." He  offered  to  conduct  me  to  that  Institution. 
He  assured  me  it  was  "the  finest  establishment 
upon  the  coast."    As  that  was  my  predetermined 

204 


THE  MUNICIPAL  PALACE— VERA  CRUZ 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

destination,  I  permitted  him  to  precede  me  there, 
carrying  my  bags.  The  sun  was  fierce,  the  atmos- 
phere dull  and  heavy.  We  walked  through  filthy 
streets,  streets  never  yet  cleaned  in  all  the  four- 
centuries'  life  of  Vera  Cruz.  The  ill-paved  and 
stinking  gutters  were  filled  with  slime.  The  streets 
were  bordered  with  low-built  stucco  houses.  We 
entered  an  ill-kept  plaza  where  grew  lank  bananas 
and  cocoanut  palms,  a  low  government  building 
with  a  graceful  tower  bounding  its  eastern  side. 
Here  we  came  to  the  hotel,  an  old  stone  edifice  two 
stories  high,  with  a  loggia  overspreading  the  side- 
walk, and  a  curtain  hung  between  the  pillars  and 
the  street  to  keep  the  hot  sun  from  the  footway 
which  ran  beneath.  "Mr.  Sam"  instructed  me  in 
what  I  should  have  to  do.  First,  I  must  follow 
him  to  the  American  doctor,  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  American  Consul,  procure  a  certificate  of 
health.  Then  he  would  take  me  to  the  "Fumiga- 
tion Office"  of  the  Mexican  government  to  have 
my  baggage  examined  and  certified  as  free  from 
yellow  fever  and  contagious  disease.  Then  he 
would  take  me  to  the  office  of  the  Ward  Line 
Steamship  Company  to  have  my  ticket,  which  1 
had  bought  the  day  before  in  the  office  of  the  com- 
pany In  Mexico  City,  examined  and  certified,  and 
then  he  would  arrange  that  "The  Express  Com- 
pany," for  a  stiff  fee,  should  convey  my  through 

205 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

baggage  from  the  station  of  the  railway  to  the 
steamer  Monterey,  lying  at  anchor  out  in  the  open 
Gulf,  although  the  day, previous  it  had  all  been 
checked  through  from  Mexico  City  to  Havana. 
Later,  he  himself  would  row  me  out  to  the  vessel 
and  put  me  in  my  stateroom,  free  from  further 
molestation  of  red  tape.  "Mr.  Sam"  proved  him- 
self true,  extracting  from  me,  however,  sundry 
centavos  along  the  way.  He  did  not  intend  me  at 
any  time  to  escape.  Nevertheless,  I  did  shake  my- 
self free  from  his  superintendence  for  one  short 
hour,  and  strolled  alone  about  the  ancient  town.  It 
is  a  city  of  filth,  stinks,  and  squalor — just  the  home 
for  the  perpetual  breeding  of  pestilence.  It  Is  no 
wonder  that  the  plague  of  yellow  fever  has  for 
centuries  stalked  remorselessly  In  its  midst.  But 
the  Mexican  Government,  stimulated  by  the  ex- 
ample of  the  scientific  cleanliness  of  Cuba,  is  now 
laying  a  modern  sewer  system,  and  has  employed 
English  engineers  to  construct  extensive  dock  fa- 
cilities, and  is  transforming  Vera  Cruz  Into  a  clean 
and  modern  city.  There  is  thus  hope  for  both  the 
health  and  the  commerce  of  Vera  Cruz. 

I  visited  the  famous  cocoanut  palm  grove  in 
the  Alameda  Park,  and  seating  myself  upon  one  of 
the  stone  benches,  Avatched  the  flocks  of  tame  vul- 
tures which  abound  in  Vera  Cruz,  and  are  the  reg- 
ular street  scavengers  of  the  town.     Protected  as 

206 


THE  TAME  VULTURES  OF  VERA  CRUZ 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

they  are  by  city  ordinance,  they  run  about  like 
flocks  of  chickens.  They  scarcely  move  aside  for 
the  passer-by.  There  is  not  much  of  interest  in 
Vera  Cruz,  although  the  city  contains  several 
ancient  churches,  Spanish  towers,  and  one  mediaeval 
fortress,  built  in  the  early  period  of  the  Conquest. 

After  lunch  at  the  hotel,  where  I  was  sadly 
overcharged,  "Mr.  Sam"  rowed  me  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  to  the  steamship  Monterey.  My  baggage  was 
brought  out  by  the  "express  company"  in  a  lighter 
along  with  that  of  other  fellow-travelers  of  my 
train,  and  although  we  were  through  passengers 
from  Mexico  City  to  Cuba  and  New  York,  yet 
extra  charges  were  made  for  this  necessary  service, 
an  evident  extortion. 

I  had  reached  my  ship  about  half-past  three  in 
the  afternoon;  we  were  scheduled  to  leave  at  four; 
we  did  not  sail  until  long  after  the  appointed  hour, 
so  slow  is  the  "lighterage"  process  of  taking  on 
cargo.  The  largest  vessels  can  lie  at  the  new  piers, 
but  either  to  save  port  charges,  or,  as  they  claim, 
"to  avoid  the  possibility  of  yellow  fever,"  these 
boats  anchor  far  out  In  the  harbor  and  compel  all 
passengers  and  freight  to  be  brought  on  board. 

Our  motley  cargo  Included  sheep  and  cattle  for 
Havana ;  a  menagerie,  lions,  tigers,  monkeys,  and 
an  elephant  carefully  hoisted  and  standing  in  a  spe- 
cially constructed  crate  in  the  forward  hold,  un- 

207 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

easy  and  swaying  his  body  In  great  terror;  and  also 
many  and  divers  crates  and  bales  of  merchandise. 

We  carry  a  large  company  of  cabin  passengers 
for  Progresso,  the  chief  port  of  Merida,  in  Yuca- 
tan. Among  them  I  have  noticed  a  group  of  gen- 
tlemen who  upon  the  train  seemed  to  be  suffering 
greatly  from  the  cold.  I  learned  that  they  are  rich 
planters  from  Merida.  One  is  a  senator  in  the 
Mexican  National  Congress.  He  is  a  large,  thick- 
set man,  with  high  cheek  bones,  blue  eyes,  light- 
brown  hair,  a  white  man  much  burned  and  browned 
by  tropical  suns.  I  thought  he  might  possi- 
bly be  a  German  or  Scandinavian.  Imagine  my 
astonishment  when  I  am  advised  that  he  is  a  full- 
blooded  "Yucataka  Indian!"  He  is  one  of  that 
strange  tribe  of  blue-eyed,  light-haired  people,^ 
whom  the  Spaniards  never  conquered,  and  whom 
the  Mexican  government  have  nev^er  yet  been  able 
to  subdue,  and  in  recent  years  have  only  been  won 
over  through  Diaz's  subtle  diplomacy.  Whence 
came  this  tribe  is  one  of  the  unsolved  riddles  of  his- 
tory. Possibly  some  Viking  crew,  drifted  far  out 
of  their  northern  waters,  may  have  been  the  fore- 
fathers of  this  blue-eyed,  unconquerable  race. 

We  are  weighing  anchor.  The  propeller  blade 
begins  to  turn.  On  our  port  side  rise  the  white 
walls  of  San  Juan  de  Ulloa,  the  famous  fortress 
and  now  state  prison  of  Mexico, — an  island  of 

208 


A    NOBLE   PALM 


I 


Journey  by  Night  from  Mexico  City 

Itself, — ^within  the  cells  and  dungeons  of  which 
yellow  fevei  perpetually  removes  the  Imprisoned 
wretches  sent  there  to  die. 

To  starboard  lies  at  anchor  the  Mexican  navy 
— a  small-sized  tug.  Our  voyage  to  Cuba  Is  be- 
gun. 


14  209 


XIX 

Voyaging  Across  the   Gulf   of  Mexico 

and  Straits  of  Yucatan  from  Vera 

Cruz  to  Progresso  and  Havana 

Steamship  Monterey,  at  Sea, 

December  21st-24th. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  we  set  sail  from 
Vera  Cruz.  The  shoreland  faded;  the  grove  of 
cocoanut  palms  in  the  Alameda  with  their  feathery 
tops  waving  in  the  evening  breeze,  were  the  last 
green  things  I  saw.  As  the  sun  sank  suddenly 
behind  the  great  volcano,  the  western  horizon  was 
filled  with  golden  and  scarlet  and  purple  color- 
ing, and  Orizaba's  summit  was  flooded  with  rose- 
ate splendor.  The  stars  burst  out,  the  moon  crept 
up  from  the  dark  waters.  We  were  on  the  Mex- 
ican Gulf,  and  the  tropical  heavens  glowed  and 
burned  with  a  brilliance  unknown  to  the  latitudes 
of  the  middle  north.  The  waters,  churning  in  our 
wake,  flashed  and  glowed  with  the  phosphores- 
cence characteristic  of  tropic  seas.  The  wind  fresh- 
ened and,  by  the  middle  of  the  night,  the  knowing 

210 


Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 

ones  hinted  that  more  than  the  usual  commotion 
of  the  sea  might  be  expected  before  the  dawn.  In 
fact,  a  cablegram  had  been  received,  sent  from  Gal- 
veston, warning  us  that  a  "Norther"  was  on  Its 
way. 

I  sat  up  till  late,  enjoying  the  rising  gale  and 
drinking  in  the  delicious  air. 

After  so  long  a  sojourn  upon  high,  dry, 
parched  land.  It  was  a  delight  to  be  again  upon 
the  sea.  The  restless  waters  tossed  our  sturdy 
boat  as  though  It  were  a  cork.  I  slept  soundly, 
despite  the  rolling  of  the  ship  and  the  hammer- 
ing of  the  surging  billows  against  the  shell  of  my 
cabin,  and  I  was  among  the  first  to  respond  to 
the  six  o'clock  bells  summoning  the  hungry  to  their 
desayuno.  These  vessels  follow  the  customs  of  the 
majority  of  their  passengers  and  serve  meals  in 
Spanish  fashion — desayuno  from  six  to  seven — cof- 
fee and  rolls  to  whosoever  may  care  to  partake  of 
them — and,  about  ten  o'clock  the  almuerzo,  the 
regular  breakfast,  a  hearty  meal ;  then  the  comida, 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon;  while  later  between 
seven  and  eight  o'clock  cena  Is  served,  a  light  re- 
past, a  cross  betwixt  the  English  tea  and  supper. 

All  day  the  wind  blew  steadily  from  the  north- 
west, and  the  Mexican  travelers  spent  most  of 
their  time  doubled  above  the  rails  like  bended  hair- 
pins.    During  the  afternoon  the  gale  increased. 

211 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Great  banks  of  cloud,  black  and  ominous,  rolled 
down  upon  us,  and,  toward  the  close  of  the  day, 
torrents  of  rain  descended.  Few  passengers,  by 
this  time,  remained  upon  the  decks,  and  the  group 
who  gathered  with  the  captain  at  the  evening  meal 
could  be  counted  on  the  hand.  As  night  drew  on 
the  winds  boomed  louder  and  terror  took  posses- 
sion of  the  unseasoned  landsmen  from  Yucatan. 
But  I  felt  no  symptoms  of  seasickness,  and  the 
splendid  sea-strength  of  this  vessel  gave  me  a 
sense  of  safety  and  repose.  I  wedged  myself 
Into  my  berth,  so  that  I  might  not  be  thrown  out, 
and  lulled  by  the  roaring  of  the  storm  and  the 
rolling  and  plunging  of  the  ship,  fell  peacefully 
asleep.  When  I  at  last  awoke,  the  sun  was  long 
up,  and  the  clouds  were  mostly  drifted  to  the  south. 
We  were  double-anchored  in  the  open  roadstead  off 
Progresso,  four  miles  from  the  shore.  South  of 
us,  all  along  the  coast,  we  could  see  the  crests  of 
the  gigantic  surf  beating  upon  the  sandy  marge 
of  Yucatan.  No  boat  of  less  strength  than  our 
own,  might  dare  to  ride  out  such  a  storm;  no  ves- 
sels can  venture  to  us  from  the  shore  until  the 
waters  subside.  There  are  no  harbors  along  the 
entire  coast  of  the  Yucatan  peninsula.  The  only 
ports  are  Campeche  and  Progresso,  and  ships  must 
lie  three  or  four  miles  out  in  the  open  sea  and 
passengers  and  freight  must  be  taken  on  and  off 

212 


THE  LITTLE  BOYS  LEAVING 
OUR   SHIP 


Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 

in  lighters,  greatly  to  the  disadvantage  of  com- 
merce. Above  the  white  lines  of  the  foaming 
breakers,  we  can  see  the  tops  of  the  waving  cocoa- 
nut  and  royal  palms,  and  between  them  the  white 
buildings  of  Progresso.  Back  of  Progresso,  some 
thirty  miles,  lies  the  city  of  Merida,  but  a  few  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  the  commercial  center 
of  the  world's  heniquen  or  sisal  grass  trade.  An 
enormous  export  business  in  this  grass  has  sprung 
up  since  the  beginning  of  the  Philippine  war,  when 
the  Manila  hemp  trade  fell  away.  Natural  con- 
ditions here  favor  the  growth  of  the  fiber,  it  in- 
creasing with  little  cultivation  and  great  crops 
being  raised.  Millions  of  dollars  have  been  ac- 
cumulated in  late  years  by  the  fortunate  planters 
of  Merida,  and  no  city  in  Mexico  has  so  suddenly 
advanced  in  wealth. 

During  the  afternoon  we  saw  our  first  shore- 
boats,  and  we  are  promised  that  to-morrow,  even 
though  it  be  Sunday,  the  cargo  shall  be  taken  off. 
Two  small  boats  have  ventured  out,  and  into  one  of 
them  have  been  thrown  the  mails  which  an  await- 
ing train  will  quickly  take  to  Merida,  but  until 
morning  no  passengers  will  be  permitted  to  go 
ashore,  nor  will  any  freight  be  landed. 

To-day  we  have  seen  our  first  sea  birds,  and  a 
very  few  flying  fish,  while,  since  early  dawn,  there 
has  traveled  around  the  ship  a  continuous  proces- 

213 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

slon  of  sharks,  their  sharp  dorsal  fins  constantly 
showing  above  the  waters.  Some  of  the  passen- 
gers have  been  fishing  for  them,  but  as  yet  none 
have  been  caught  and,  I  am  told,  they  are  very 
shy.  While  they  will  accompany  a  ship  all  the  way 
to  Havana,  yet  so  suspicious  are  they  of  the  fish- 
erman's line  that  they  are  rarely  captured. 

This  morning  I  stood  looking  down  upon  the 
deck  next  below  me,  watching  a  company  of  thirty 
or  forty  little  boys  aged  from  ten  to  twelve  and 
fourteen  years,  one  little  girl  among  them,  seem- 
ingly sister  to  one  of  the  younger  boys.  They 
were  mostly  sitting  in  groups  of  four  and  five  toss- 
ing centavos  and  shouting  with  delight.  They 
were  gambling  away  the  few  coins  in  their  pos- 
session. A  couple  of  sailors  came  up,  seized  two 
of  the  little  boys  and  stood  them  up  in  front  of 
each  other.  The  prisoners  seemed  to  comprehend 
the  intention  of  their  captors,  and  immediately  fell 
to  fighting  desperately,  until  one  knocked  out  the 
other,  just  as  a  couple  of  game  cocks  will  go  to 
fighting  when  placed  in  opposition.  As  soon  as 
one  of  them  had  been  vanquished,  his  sailor  patron 
shoved  him  to  one  side,  as  something  now  quite 
useless,  and  grabbing  another  boy,  set  him  in  front 
of  the  victor.  Then,  at  it  they  went  again,  and 
many  of  the  children  stopped  their  play  to  look  on. 
The  Mexicans  about  me  were  betting  on  the  fights 

214 


OFF  FOR  PROGRESS© 


Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 

and  apparently  enjoying  the  pastime.  I  inquired 
who  were  these  children,  and  learned  them  to  be  a 
company,  who  had  mostly  been  stolen  from  the 
streets  of  Mexico  and  neighboring  towns,  and 
was  told  some  had  been  bought  from  the  state 
orphan  asylums,  at  ten  dollars  a  head,  upon  the 
payment  of  the  price  no  questions  being  asked  as 
to  their  destination.  They  are  being  taken  into 
practical  slavery  to  be  speedily  worked  to  death 
by  the  heniquen  planters  of  Yucatan.  They  are 
delivered  to  the  plantations  and  there  perish  rap- 
idly from  poor  food,  harsh  treatment,  yellow  fever, 
and  the  bites  of  insects  which  burrow  into  their  un- 
protected legs  and  arms.  They  are  said  to  die  off 
like  flies,  the  effort  of  the  buyer  being  to  get  out 
of  them  his  money's  worth  in  work  before  they  die. 
The  children  know  nothing  of  their  fate,  until  they 
are  delivered  to  their  death.  The  little  fellows 
before  me  were  in  great  glee  through  all  the  voy- 
age; each  had  been  presented  with  a  few  silver 
coins,  the  first  many  of  them  had  seen  in  all  their 
lives,  and  the  joy  of  possession  set  them  to  gam- 
bling merrily  all  the  day  through.  This  traffic  in 
children  is  said  to  have  been  long  established  and  to 
be  winked  at  by  the  Mexican  authorities.  Later 
on,  we  watched  them  climb  down  the  side  of  the 
ship  and  enter  the  lighters,  shouting  with  glee  at 
the  prospect  of  going  to  "the  lovely  new  homes  in 

215 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  country,"  where  their  captors  pretended,  would 
be  their  journey's  end. 

It  was  late  Monday  evening  when  we  set  sail 
from  Progresso.  All  day  long  we  were  discharg- 
ing cargo  into  the  lighters,  which  swarmed  around 
us,  while  after  the  passengers  and  cargo  departed 
larger  vessels  brought  out  bales  of  heniquen,  which 
were  quickly  stowed  below. 

Among  the  passengers  who  left  the  ship,  were 
several  Americans.  One,  a  large,  redheaded, 
heavy-set  man,  with  genial  face  and  friendly  man- 
ner, from  Mississippi,  was  a  timberman,  out  buy- 
ing mahogany  In  the  forests  of  Yucatan.  He  told 
me  that  Americans  are  purchasing  all  the  available 
mahogany  now  standing  In  the  accessible  Mex- 
ican forests,  and  he  seemed  to  regard  the  mahog- 
any of  Yucatan  as  of  especial  value.  Another  of 
the  passengers  leaving  the  ship  was  a  man  of  small 
stature  and  clean  shaven.  He  early  attracted  our 
attention  by  his  sanctimonious  air,  and  the  fright- 
fully fluent  American  oaths  with  which  he  spiced 
his  games  of  poker  in  the  smoking  room,  where  in 
company  with  a  group  of  flashily  dressed  and  be- 
dlamonded  Mexicans,  he  played  apparently  for 
the  highest  stakes.  The  contrast  between  his 
smooth  exterior  and  the  noisome  contents  of  his 
mind,  as  well  as  the  fact  that  the  two  or  three 
hard-faced  Mexicans  who  seemed  to  have  in  charge 

2l6 


Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 

the  company  of  httle  boys,  constantly  sought  him 
out  in  consultation,  led  to  the  suspicion  that  he 
was  the  chief  trafficker  in  this  death  trade.  In 
response  to  our  questioning  as  to  his  antecedents 
and  business,  he  became  abusive,  and  upon  my  tak- 
ing his  picture  with  my  kodak,  he  grew  angry  and 
afterwards  fought  shy  of  all  intercourse  with  his 
fellow-countrymen.  As  to  who  he  may  really  be 
we  know  not.  When  the  little  boys  departed  from 
the  ship,  we  noticed  that  he  also  sailed  away. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking,  like  a  ball  of  fire, 
into  the  margin  of  the  western  sea,  when  we 
weighed  anchor  and  steamed  eastward  to  cross  the 
Strait  of  Yucatan.  The  surface  of  the  waters 
lay  calm  and  quiet  as  a  sheet  of  glass.  We  were 
two  nights  and  a  day  In  reaching  Havana,  and  the 
one  day  was  spent  In  crossing  the  Strait. 

Most  of  the  afternoon  I  have  sat  or  lain  upon 
the  forward  deck  watching  the  waters  and  observ- 
ing the  sea  life  everywhere  about  me.  We  have 
passed  Innumerable  flocks  of  flying  fish.  Here  and 
there  a  few  porpoises  have  tumbled  and  wheeled 
about  us,  but  the  sharks  have  disappeared.  Also, 
I  have  caught  sight  of  my  first  nautilus,  so  daintily 
sailing  Its  convoluted  shallop  upon  the  sea.  These 
exquisite  shell-fish  I  have  never  before  seen  alive, 
and  I  have  watched  them  with  keenest  interest. 
They  appear  only  when  perfect  calm  prevails.    At 

217 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

the  least  roughness  of  the  sea,  they  instantly  sink 
from  view.  We  have  also  all  day  been  passing 
through  extensive  masses  of  yellow  gulf  weed,  such 
as  I  have  noticed  when  traversing  the  Gulf  Stream 
on  transatlantic  voyages,  only  here  the  weed  was 
in  great  masses,  not  yet  having  been  broken  up  by 
the  tempestuous  ocean  tides.  But  we  have  been 
accompanied  by  no  birds. 

As  we  drew  further  eastward  the  air  grew  more 
soft  and  balmy.  We  were  utterly  alone,  no  craft 
other  than  our  own  appeared  anywhere  upon  the 
waters. 

I  fell  asleep  watching  the  big  stars  and  dream- 
ing of  Spanish  galleons  and  British  buccaneers,  of 
Portuguese  pirates  and  French  marauders,  whose 
adventurous  sails  have  in  the  centuries  gone  by 
whitened  in  countless  multitudes  these  now  silent 
seas. 

When  morning  broke,  the  shores  of  Cuba 
bounded  the  horizon  on  the  south,  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  away.  Low  sandy  reaches  stretched  along 
the  sea ;  palms,  tall  and  feathery,  were  waving  in 
the  morning  breeze  behind  the  white  ribbon  of 
the  strand,  a  faint  blue  line  of  mountains  lying 
yet  beyond.  As  we  approached  the  island  there 
seemed  to  be  no  break  in  the  coast  line,  but  farther 
on  we  discovered  a  narrow  channel,  between  the 
fortress  of  El  Moro  and  the  city  of  Havana  and, 

2i8 


Across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 

entering  it,  came  into  a  harbor,  landlocked  and 
storm  free,  one  of  the  securest  in  the  world.  We 
cast  anchor  near  the  projecting  rusted  wreck  of 
the  United  States  Steamship  Maine.  I  had  fin- 
ished my  voyage.  I  was  here  to  go  ashore,  while 
a  few  hours  later  the  Monterey  would  turn  north- 
ward and  sail  on  to  New  York. 


219 


XX 

The  City  of  **Habana''— Incidents  of  a 
Day's  Sojourn  in  the  Cuban  Capital 

Habana,  Cuba, 

December  5th, 

"Habana,"  says  the  Cuban  and  Spanish  mouth, 
and  the  b  is  so  gently  uttered  that  you  cannot  tell 
It  from  a  v. 

Yesterday  morning,  Tuesday,  we  cast  anchor 
beneath  the  ramparts  of  the  great  fortress  of  La 
Cabana  (Cabanya)  In  the  wide  landlocked  bay; 
many  other  ships  swung  to  their  moorings  In  the 
quiet  waters,  among  these  the  battleship  Massa- 
chusetts and  two  cruisers,  Kentucky  and  Kearsarge, 
of  the  navy  of  the  United  States. 

The  harbor  of  Habana,  you  will  remember,  Is 

a  mile  or  more  wide  and  nine  or  ten  miles  long, 

capable  of  accommodating  an  extensive  shipping. 

Now,  since  It  has  been  dredged  and  cleaned  of  the 

accumulated   filth   of  centuries,   the   largest  boats 

may  come  up  to  the  docks  and  sea  wall  along  the 

city's  marge.     The  larger  vessels,  however,  just  as 

at  Vera  Cruz,  still  prefer  to  anchor  out  In  the  bay, 

and  send  passengers  and  freight  ashore  by  means 

of  tugs  and  lighters. 

^  220 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

We  were  scarcely  moored,  when  a  multitude 
of  small  boats  surrounded  us,  all  apparently  offer- 
ing to  ferry  us  to  the  city.  We  ignored  their 
clamor  and  clambered  aboard  the  large  steam  tug 
to  which  our  baggage  was  also  transferred,  and 
were  quiclcly  landed  at  the  customshouse. 

My  two  steamer  trunks  and  big  basket  of  Mex- 
ican pottery  I  left  in  care  of  the  customs  officers, 
and  came  up  into  the  city  with  only  a  valise.  The 
customshouse  is  a  long,  low,  stone  building,  with  an 
iron  fence  shutting  it  in  and  enclosing  also  an 
extensive  paved  storage  yard.  The  Cuban  officers, 
who  were  very  polite,  are  yet  under  the  military 
control  of  the  United  States  and  of  General  Wood, 
and  they  all  spoke  English  fluently. 

Passing  out  through  the  great  iron  gates,  we 
signalled  for  a  cochero,  when  half  a  dozen  gal- 
loped up  gesticulating  and  vociferating  eagerly. 
We  choose  the  cleanest-looking  cocha  of  the  lot, 
a  curious  ancient  vehicle,  which  seemed  to  be  a 
cross  between  the  German  fiacre  and  a  Parisian 
voiture.  Into  this  three  of  us  climbed,  when  we 
set  off  on  a  gallop  through  narrow  streets  up  into 
the  city,  halting  at  last  before  the  Spanish-kept 
Hotel  Pasaje.  It  Is  big  and  airy,  and  I  have  a 
room  at  the  top  where  I  can  catch  any  breeze  which 
may  be  blowing.  The  floor  of  my  chamber  Is 
tiled;  It  Is  fitted  with  an  Iron  bedstead  with  wire 

221 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

mattress,  and  neat  American  cottage  furniture,. 
An  electric  Incandescent  lamp  dangles  from  the 
celling,  and  there  are  two  large  sashless  windows 
with  slatted  Venetian  curtains  which  may  be  let 
down  to  shut  out  wind  and  light.  My  first  view 
of  Habana  was  from  one  of  these  windows.  I 
looked  out  over  a  city  of  flat  roofs,  where  much 
domestic  labor  was  carried  on,  and  then  beyond, 
across  the  palm-ornamented  plaza  and  along  the 
beautiful  Prado  to  the  sea. 

My  first  commercial  transaction  was  the  pur- 
chase of  really  fine  cigars  at  a  most  reasonable  fig- 
ure; and  then  a  packet  of  postal  cards  illustrated 
with  views  of  Cuba.  Down  in  the  corner  of  each 
card  was  the  legend,  "Made  in  Detroit."  When 
I  called  the  attention  of  the  Spanish  salesman  to 
this  fact,  he  declared  "there  is  no  such  place  as 
Detroit,"  and  "undoubtedly  the  words  are  the 
name  of  the  Spanish  artist  who  designed  the 
cards!" 

Leaving  the  hotel,  I  sauntered  toward  the 
Plaza  Grande,  an  open  square  of  several  acres, 
traversed  by  gravel  walks,  and  shaded  by  many 
Royal  and  other  graceful  palms;  and  then  cross- 
ing it  I  came  to  the  Prado.  "Muy  honita  esta  el 
Prado,'*  (very  lovely  Is  the  Prado) ,  Is  the  common 
phrase  of  every  Habanlsta ;  and  rightfully  are  the 
Habanese  proud  of  their  splendid  parklike  boule- 
vard. 222 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

r 

Habana  Is  built  upon  a  low,  broad-topped  hill, 
which  descends  gently  to  the  water  side.  On  the 
flattened  crest  of  this  hill  is  the  Plaza  Grande,  and 
from  the  Plaza  down  to  the  sea,  a  mile  or  two  in 
length,  stretches  the  Prado; — a  wide  boulevard 
on  either  side  of  a  broad  green  strip  of  park,  where 
a  watk-way  passes  beneath  a  double  row  of  ancient 
and  umbrageous  trees,  and  comfortable  seats  are 
placed  at  intervals. 

It  is  on  the  Prado  that  the  fashion  and  beauty 
of  Habana  drives  and  promenades  and  lingers  to 
see  and  be  seen  of  all  the  world.  Along  its  borders, 
on  either  hand,  are  built  many  of  the  noblest  man- 
sions of  her  merchant  and  planter  magnates.  To 
have  a  residence  upon  the  Prado  is  to  command 
respect. 

The  Spaniard  and  Cuban  cared  little  for  his 
streets,  but  he  devoted  himself  with  lavish  atten- 
tion to  beautifying  the  interior  of  his  home.  Hence, 
in  the  Cuban  as  in  the  Mexican  cities,  you  often 
pass  along  between  bare  uninteresting  walls,  while 
the  costliest  marbles,  the  richest  fabrics,  the  rarest 
paintings  within,  quite  hidden  from  all  curious  eyes, 
may  be  collected. 

Later  in  the  day  T  wandered  through  the  shop- 
ping districts  along  the  famous  Calles  Obispo  and 
O'Rielly,  streets  so  narrow  that  during  the  heat  of 
the  day  they  are  wholly  overspread  with  awnings 

223 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

while  wheel  traffic  must  go  down  O'Rielly  and  up 
Obispo.  Here  are  gathered  in  plain  unpretentious 
buildings  many  sumptuous  shops.  The  Cuban  has 
not  yet  learned  the  art  of  window  display;  he  is 
not  up  even  to  the  Mexican  in  that.  But  once  you 
are  within  and  know  what  to  ask  for,  beautiful 
fabrics  and  expensive  goods  are  shown  you  with- 
out stint.  Among  other  shops,  the  hat  store  holds 
an  important  place  In  Cuban  as  well  as  Mexican 
life.  In  Mexico,  the  sombrero,  costly  or  cheap, 
marks  the  social  status  of  the  wearer  and,  just  so, 
here  In  Cuba  the  quality  of  your  panama  deter- 
mines the  amount  of  consideration  which  you  re- 
ceive. I  entered  the  Hotel  Pasaje  wearing  a  mod- 
ern American  'felt  hat,  and  when  I  bloomed  out  in 
a  really  good  panama,  the  clerks  and  servants 
treated  me  with  markedly  Increased  respect.  In 
the  same  way,  when  you  enter  a  shop,  the  clerk 
sizes  up  your  hat  and  treats  you  accordingly. 

A  noteworthy  thing  about  Habana  is  the  great 
number  of  cigar  stores.  No  city  in  the  world  pos- 
sesses so  many.  Nor  are  the  cigars  there  purchased 
to  be  surpassed.  Every  one  smokes  cigars  in  Ha- 
bana. The  cigarette  holds  the  Inferior  place.  The 
men  smoke  cigars;  the  boys  smoke  cigars;  even 
many  of  the  women  smoke  cigars.  In  Mexico,  In 
the  hotels  and  railway  cars,  the  ladies  were  usually 

224 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

smoking  cigarettes.  Here  in  Habana  delicate  fem- 
inine lips  close  tenderly  upon  el  segaro. 

There  is  also  much  fruit  sold  at  little  stands 
along  the  street  curbs  and  at  the  corners,  but  in 
nothing  like  the  quantity  or  profusion  seen  in  the 
Mexican  cities,  nor  have  I  met  any  didce  boys 
with  trays  of  candied  fruits,  upon  their  heads. 

There  are  two  chief  markets  in  Habana ;  one 
is  by  the  water  side,  where  the  fishermen  come  and 
where  I  was  greatly  interested.  There  were  the 
splendid  red-sttapper — which  I  saw  in  the  markets 
of  Mexico  fresh  from  the  sea, — a  large  handsome 
fish  of  deep-red  color,  weighing  five  or  six  pounds; 
and  multitudes  of  sorts  I  did  not  know.  The 
other,  a  large  market  where  flowers  and  fruits  and 
vegetables  are  sold  is  on  the  hill  a  mile  or  two 
from  the  sea. 

The  vegetable  gardens  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Chinese,  who  bring  the 
vegetables  to  the  markets  where  they  are  sold  by  the 
Cubans.  They  work  the  gardens  just  as  they  would 
in  Shanghai,  in  Canton,  in  Pekin;  they  have  come 
over  from  China  direct;  they  already  control  the 
greengrocer  trade  of  Habana,  and  are  said  to  be 
fast  growing  rich. 

The  markets  are  neither  so  large,  nor  so  abund- 
antly supplied  as  those  of  Mexico  City,  where  the 
fruits  and  vegetables  of  the  temperate  highlands, 
15  225 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

and  also  those  of  the  tropics  are  offered  In  the  same 
stall 

It  was  the  day  before  Christmas  when  I  vis- 
ited the  larger  market,  and  the  chief  Interest  of  the 
buyers  seemed  to  be  centered  In  the  display  of  live 
and  suckling  pigs.  It  Is  the  custom  of  the  Cuban 
to  celebrate  his  Christmas  with  a  royal  banquet  of 
roast  pig.  So  the  housewife  selects  a  "live  and 
squealing  dinner,"  ties  him  together  by  his  four 
legs  and  with  a  cord  slung  across  her  shoulder,  car- 
ries him  home,  lustily  vociferating  beneath  her 
arm.  I  saw  few  pigs  in  Mexico,  only  an  occa- 
sional hog  or  shoat,  lean  and  wild,  scampering 
along  the  wayside  in  Michoacan;  but  here,  In  Cuba, 
the  pig  is  el  gran  Senor. 

The  crowds  gathering  in  these  markets  were 
in  strong  contrast  to  those  of  Mexico.  Here,  were 
none  of  the  warm  brown  Indian  tints,  but  Instead 
the  yellow  mulatto  and  the  very  dark  Spaniard  or 
negro.  The  curLous  thing  about  these  Cuban 
crowds  is  that  the  Spanish  mulatto,  instead  of  car- 
rying the  white  man's  color  with  the  negro's  fea- 
tures, bears,  on  the  contrary,  the  white  man's  fea- 
tures with  the  darker  color  of  his  African  blood, 
and  hence,  the  Impression  created  by  a  Cuban  crowd 
is  rather  that  of  men  having  Caucasian  features 
shaded  in  color  from  the  paler  to  the  darker  hues. 
It   is   also  said,   that  many  of   the   darker   faces 

226 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

have  In  them  no  negro  blood  at  all,  but  are  those 
of  the  descendants  of  the  ancient  Moors,  who,  once 
the  lords  of  old  Spain,  have  left  as  legacy  a  proud 
lineage  and  swarthy  skin.  To  the  unpracticed  eye^ 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  distinguish  between  the 
Spanish  negro  and  the  "Black  Spaniard."  Thus 
in  Cuba  the  color  line  of  race  distinction,  as  drawn 
in  the  United  States,  becomes  almost  impossible. 
Nor  does  it  exist.  Men  of  all  shades  mingle  and 
mix  in  social  functions,  for  who  can  tell  whether 
the  dark  face  is  shaded  by  the  infused  blood  of  the 
lowly  negro  or  the  haughty  Moor? 

In  the  late  afternoon  I  took  my  way  down 
along  the  Prado,  and,  stopping  before  No.  55, 
touched  an  electric  bell.  The  door  opened  and  I 
entered  a  spacious  patio;  on  one  side  stood  a  mod- 
ern automobile, — on  the  other,  pots  of  flowering 
plants,  and  I  entered  a  large  and  airy  drawing 
room. 

I  might  have  been  in  my  own  country,  for  it 
bore  the  marks  of  modern  taste.  It  was  the  draw- 
ing room  of  Sehora who  as  Miss ,  I  had 

known  and  admired  in  the  United  States.  She 
expressed  delight  at  seeing  me,  greeting  me  with 
the  cordiality  of  an  old  friend.  She  at  once  in- 
sisted that  I  accompany  her  that  evening  to  Mrs. 
General  Wood's  private  box  at  the  dinner  to  be 
given  by  the  citizens  of  Havana  to  the  United 

227 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

States  naval  officers  now  here  with  the  squadron. 
The  dinner  was  to  be  held  in  the  Opera  House, 
It  would  be  the  most  notable  function  of  the  year; 
all  that  was  distinguished  in  Cuban,  Spanish,  and 
American  social,  military  and  naval  life  would  be 
there  assembled.  I  was  a  passing  traveler,  and  my 
white  duck  trousers  and  blue  flannel  coat  were 
scarcely  the  costume  to  wear  among  so  brilliant  a 
company;  but  it  was  the  best  I  had  and  what  bet- 
ter could  I  do  than  accept?  My  hostess'  husband, 
as  one  of  the  receiving  committee,  must  be  sepa- 
rated from  her  and  my  escort  would  stand  her  in 
good  stead. 

A  few  hours  later  we  were  ushered  into  the 
big  theater,  and  shown  with  much  ceremony  to 
the  private  box  of  the  wife  of  Cuba's  Military 
Governor.  Here  were  gathered  Mrs.  Wood  her- 
self, the  wife  of  Admiral  Converse,  and  the  ladies 
of  their  entourage.  The  scene  was  splendid.  The 
spacious  Opera  House,  built  by  the  Spaniards  with 
their  appreciation  of  pomp  and  ceremony  and  bril- 
liant functions,  was  filled  with  a  distinguished  as- 
semblage; from  floor  to  lofty  roof  were  tiers  of 
boxes,  and  these  boxes  were  occupied  with  the 
beauty  and  fashion  of  Cuba.  The  great  parquet 
of  the  theater  was  floored  over  and  upon  this  space 
were  set  long  tables.  The  dinner  had  already  some 
time   ago  begun.      The  company  there   gathered 

228 


n. 

# 

1^ 

l^HH 

The  City  of  "Habana" 

were  nearing  the  hour  when  toasts  are  offered. 
Young  Senor  Garcia,  son  of  the  Cuban  General, 
was  Toast  Master  of  the  occasion.  On  his  right  sat 
General  Wood;  upon  his  left  the  Archbishop  of 
Santiago,  In  rich  and  gorgeous  robes,  the  first  na- 
tive Cuban  priest  to  reach  that  high  dignity.  The 
American  naval  and  military  officers  were  in  full 
dress  uniform,  and  the  Cuban  Generals  were  bril- 
liant in  warlike  trappings  and  gold  lace.  The  civil- 
ians wore  dress  suits,  and  I  was  conspicuous  as  the 
only  guest  of  the  evening  In  white  duck  and  blue 
flannel. 

The  speeches  were  in  Spanish  and  English,  and 
great  enthusiasm  and  good  fellowship  prevailed. 
In  the  couEse  of  the  evening,  most  of  the  gentle- 
men present  came  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  wife 
of  Cuba's  Governor,  and  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  introduced  to  the  greater  part  of  them. 

The  sentiment  between  the  Cubans  and  the 
Americans  Is  now  most  cordial,  or,  perhaps  I 
should  say,  between  the  governing  and  more  cul- 
tivated Cubans  and  ourselves;  for  among  those 
whose  knowledge  of  the  United  States  Is  gathered 
chiefly  from  contact  with  a  soldiery,  not  altogether 
courteous  in  enforcing  order,  there  is  little  good 
feeling,  but  rather  a  sense  of  sharp  antagonism, 
which,  though  usually  suppressed,  nevertheless  now 
and  then  crops  out. 

229 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

After  the  dinner  and  the  closing  of  the  func- 
tion, I  wandered  out  beneath  the  stars  along  the 
Prado  and  through  the  Plaza  Grande  to  my  hotel. 
The  streets  were  yet  alive  with  people,  although  it 
was  late.  In  the  great  square  the  band  had  not 
finished  its  nightly  concert,  and  the  chairs  which, 
in  Havana  as  in  Mexico,  are  rented  to  the  public, 
were  yet  well-filled  with  those  who  lingered  to  en- 
joy the  music  and  the  cool  night  air. 

Continuing  my  way  homeward,  I  caught  the 
distant  hum  of  voices  and  an  occasional  shout.  The 
sounds  grew  nearer.  Looking  down  the  Prado,  I 
beheld  many  moving  lights.  Then  a  band  began 
to  play.  A  procession  was  approaching.  I  paused 
to  watch.  First  came  a  band,  men  in  smart  uni- 
forms; following  these  were  men  on  horseback, 
some  in  uniform,  some  in  civilian  dress.  Then 
came  several  other  bands,  and  men  and  boys  on 
foot  carrying  banners  and  lanterns  and  illumina- 
tions. A  multitude  was  marching  through  the 
streets.  Every  now  and  then  they  shouted  the  name 
"Masso,  Masso,"  and  broke  into  vivas  and  hravos. 
At  the  Hotel  Pasaje  they  halted  and  renewed  their 
cheers  and  cries,  the  wide  street  becoming  packed 
with  the  pressing  mob,  a  cheering  crowd,  mostly 
dark-faced.  The  procession  was  a  demonstration 
in  behalf  of  Masso  by  the  followers  of  the  "Masso- 
ista"  party.    He  is  the  candidate  they  would  elect 

230 


SELLING   VEGETABLES— HAVANA 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

to  the  Presidency  of  the  Cuban  Republic  in  oppo- 
sition to  Estrada  Palma. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  I  was 
riding  on  the  tramway  in  company  with  a  friend, 
toward  the  suburbs  on  the  hill,  when  a  tall  and 
courtly  Cuban  came  toward  us.  He  took  a  seat 
next  to  my  friend  and  after  a  few  moments'  con- 
versation, turned  to  me  and  said  in  perfect  Eng- 
lish that  he  had  noticed  me  the  night  before  in  the 
box  of  "Sehora  General  Wood,"  and,  "that  he  had 
remarked  me  for  a  stranger  in  Habana."  He  said 
that  he  was  shortly  to  leave  the  car,  and  asked 
whether  we  would  not  like  to  visit  an  old  Cuban 
mansion,  in  order  to  see  how  people  in  Cuba  lived 
in  the  style  of  the  old  regime. 

Knowing  the  gracious  manner  of  compliment 
habitual  among  the  Spanish  peoples,  I  was  going 
to  thank  him  for  the  proffered  courtesy  and  de- 
cline; but  my  American  friend,  to  my  surprise, 
promptly  accepted  the  invitation.  We  left  the  car 
in  company  with  our  guide,  Senor ,  who  be- 
longs to  one  of  the  oldest  Cuban  families  of  French 
descent, — and  is  a  lawyer  of  distinction. 

We  approached  a  stately  residence  built  of 
white  marble,  a  series  of  high  marble  pillars  before 
a  marble  portico  running  along  the  front.  We 
passed  through  a  small  gate  within  a  larger  one  in  a 
high,  wrought  iron  fence,  through  a  small  glazed 

231 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

door  in  a  large  doorway  and  came  into  a  high,  wide 
drawing  room,  extending  across  the  front  of  the 
house.  All  was  white  marble, — the  floors,  the 
wainscoting,  the  doorways; — there  was  no  wood- 
work anywhere.  Handsome  rugs  lay  upon  the 
floor  and  French  rattan  furniture  of  easy  shapes 
was  scattered  about  the  room.  At  one  side  we 
entered  another  lofty  chamber,  similarly  floored 
and  wainscoted,  used  as  a  ladies'  boudoir,  and 
thence  passed  out  across  a  wide  piazza,  into  a 
beautiful  and  well-kept  Spanish  garden.  The 
walks  were  carefully  laid  out,  the  beds  were  full 
of  blooming  plants — there  were  many  palms  of 
different  varieties,  and  a  marble  bath  house  with 
running  water  and  a  large  swimming  pool.  Beyond 
the  flower  garden,  we  entered  a  vegetable  garden, 
close  to  which  stood  a  commodious  stable ;  then  re- 
turning to  the  house  El  Senor  asked  whether  we 
would  like  also  to  see  the  kitchen.  We  were  shown 
into  a  big  square  room,  in  the  center  of  which  stood 
an  octagonal  blue-tiled  "stove,"  about  ten  feet 
across  at  the  top,  and  four  feet  high,  a  sort  of 
porcelain  table,  containing  many  niches  wherein 
to  build  small  charcoal  fires,  a  single  fire  to  cook 
each  separate  dish.  An  old  negro  servant,  a  freed 
slave,  was  preparing  the  evening  meal.  We  next 
entered  the  large  dining  room,  with  old  mahogany 
furniture,  a  long  table  for  banquets,  and  at  one  side 

232 


The  City  of  ''Habana" 

a  small  table  already  set  for  the  evening  meal. 
There  was  much  handsome  silver  and  cut  glass 
upon  the  high,  old-fashioned  mahogany  sideboard. 
From  the  dining  room  we  passed  into  a  library, 
the  shelves  filled  with  French  and  Spanish  and 
German  and  English  books.  Here  the  father  of 
my  host,  an  eminent  judge,  had  gathered  about 
him  much  of  the  world's  choicest  literature.  Then 
we  came  out  into  the  wide  patio,  square  and  open 
to  the  sky,  a  fountain  playing  in  the  middle,  and 
many  potted  palms  and  flowering  plants  set  round 
about.  The  great  house  was  of  one  story,  and  all 
rooms  opened  upon  the  central  court.  None  of  the 
windows  were  sashed  with  glass,  and  Venetian 
blinds  kept  out  the  light  and  too  much  air. 

Here,  In  this  sumptuous  home  lived  for  half  a 
century  one  of  the  distinguished  families  of  Ha- 
vana; here  now  were  living  the  grandchildren  of 
those  who  built  it. 

Our  host  then  led  us  up  to  the  wide  flat  roof, 
whence  stretched  out  before  us  a  panorama  of  the 
city,  the  bay  and  the  open  sea. 

My  friend,  who  had  long  lived  in  Havana, 
holding  a  prominent  post  in  government  employ, 
had  never  before  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  Inspect- 
ing so  beautiful  a  Cuban  home.  As  we  parted  that 
evening  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  "Perhaps  the 
white  duck  trousers  and  blue  flannel  coat,  which 

233 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

were  so  conspicuous  last  night  in  the  box  of  Cuba's 
Governor  General,  are  to  be  thanked  for  this  op- 
portunity now  come  to  both  of  us."  El  Sehor 
had  been  pleased  to  show  a  courtesy  to  the  guest 
of  the  first  lady  of  the  Island. 

Neither  the  great  cathedral  of  Havana,  nor  any 
of  her  churches,  nor  the  honored  chapel  where 
Columbus'  bones  are  supposed  to  have  lain,  nor 
any  of  her  public  buildings,  not  even  the  "Palace" 
of  the  Spanish  Captain  Generals,  are  of  so  striking 
and  splendid  architecture  as  one  sees  generally  in 
Mexico.  The  allurement  and  dazzling  fame  of 
the  Empire  of  Montezuma  attracted  thither  all 
that  was  daring  and  forceful  and  brilliant  in  old 
Spain.  Even  the  wonders  of  Cuba  and  the  Antilles 
,paled  before  the  tales  of  fabulous  wealth  and  treas- 
ure of  the  conquest  of  Cortez.  The  noble  churches 
and  architecture  of  Mexico  have  no  rivals  among 
the  Cuban  cities.  Nor  is  there  among  the  Cubans 
that  picturesqueness  in  garb,  that  striking  bril- 
liancy of  coloring,  which  one  sees  upon  the  streets 
of  the  Mexican  cities.  In  Cuba  you  see  no  scarlet 
and  green  and  blue  zerapes;  no  purple  and  blue  and 
pink  rehozos;  no  ranclierros  and  cahalleros  in  vel- 
vet jackets  and  tight-fitting  trousers,  laced  and 
spangled  and  buttoned  with  threads  of  silver  and 
gold;  none  of  the  splendor  in  coloring  and  dress 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  which  still  clings  to  the 

234 


The  City  of  "Habana" 

street  scene  in  Mexico.  Cuba  in  its  outward  as- 
pects is  ciistinctly,  unromantically  modern.  The 
black  coat  is  de  rigiieiir;  the  black  hat  or  the 
panama  is  the  only  covering  for  the  head,  and 
even  conventional  millinery  has  begun  to  drive 
away  the  graceful  mantilla  from  the  brows  of  las 
sehoras.  There  is  no  poetry,  no  artistic  coloring  in 
the  life  scheme  of  the  Cuban.  His  face  and  move- 
ments lack  the  vivacity  and  alertness  inspired  by 
the  keen,  quickening  air  of  the  Mexican  High- 
lands. Even  the  clothes  he  wears  and  the  way 
he  wears  them  bespeak  the  heavy,  sea  level  atmos- 
phere he  breathes.  Nor  has  the  language  of  the 
Cuban  preserved  the  ancient  grace  and  forceful- 
ness  which  distinguish  the  almost  classic  Spanish 
of  the  Mexican.  The  Spanish  spoken  in  Cuba  has 
added  to  its  vocabulary  a  multitude  of  words  from 
the  French  and  English  of  its  neighbors,  and  from 
the  provincial  patois  of  the  formerly  numerous 
Spanish  soldiery. 

Another  time  we  rode  out  to  the  attractive 
suburbs  of  Vendado,  where  are  many  fine  houses 
and  extensive  gardens,  the  greater  part  of  them 
built  in  the  old  Spanish  style,  but  some  of  the 
newer  buildings  after  the  fashion  of  modern  Amer- 
ican architecture.  These  last  are  less  attractive 
than  those  which  the  Spaniard  has  evolved  from 
his  centuries  of  living  in  the  latitudes  of  the  tropics. 

235 


XXI 

Cuba — The  Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

Havana, 
Decmber  2nd. 

The  candle  end  Captain  Maclrvine  held  In  his 
hand  had  burned  so  low  that  his  fingers  were 
scorching.  My  last  match  was  burned  up.  We 
should  have  to  grope  our  way  out.  Just  at  that 
moment  a  dim  flicker  of  a  distant  light  gleamed 
far  down  the  low,  narrow  tunnelway.  It  came 
nearer,  It  grew  larger;  a  man  was  there, — a  sol- 
dier— yes,  a  Cuban  officer,  a  lieuteant  of  Infantry. 
With  him  were  two  ladies;  one  older  than  he, 
whose  face,  sweet,  but  oh,  so  sad !  was  furrowed 
with  deep  lines.  Her  hand  trembled  on  her  es- 
cort's arm.  The  other  woman  was  younger,  quite 
as  young  as  the  lieutenant,  and  comely  to  look  upon. 
^'S'l,  Sehor,"  replied  the  lieutenant  to  a  query,  "I  do 
have  one  box  of  the  match.  Take  of  them  one 
half.  Take  of  them  all.  I  do  know  the  way  out." 
He  handed  Maclrvine  a  box  of  small  wax  tapers. 
Tears  were  streaming  down  the  elder  woman's 
face;  the  younger  gave  a  sob.     The  three  passed 

236 


H 

n 

1 

I 

1 

ti 

i 

'-^^^^^^^K^ 

< 
< 

< 

o 


Cuba — Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

on  and  turned  up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  left.  We 
were  in  the  pitch  dark  again. 

"Who  is  he?  Who  are  they?"  I  asked.  "He 
is  the  officer  now  In  command  of  this  fortification; 
they  are  his  mother  and  sister,"  Maclrvine  rephed, 
half  divining  my  question.  "He  is  of  a  prominent 
Cuban  family.  They  were  people  of  wealth.  The 
family  were  at  dinner  one  evening.  A  Spanish 
guard  called  at  the  house,  sent  in  a  card  to  the 
father,  who  was  an  eminent  judge.  He  left  the 
table  and  went  to  the  door.  He  was  arrested  and 
brought  here,  hatless  and  in  his  slippers.  When 
the  family  went  to  ascertain  why  he  did  not  come 
back  to  finish  his  coffee,  they  learned  that  he  had 
been  taken  to  La  Cabaiia.  They  never  saw  him 
again.  The  Spanish  authorities  reported  that  he 
had  'escaped.'  In  fact,  he  was  brought  down  here 
into  one  of  these  dungeons,  and  was  walled  up 
alive.  These  loose  rock  walls  you  are  now  looking 
at,  filling  these  low  arches  along  this  passageway, 
all  tell  the  same  tale.  Behind  every  one  of  these 
walls,  one  or  more  Cubans  have  been  immured 
alive.    Their  bones  still  rot  there." 

When  a  man  was  walled  in,  no  record  was  kept 
of  the  dungeon;  the  guards  were  subsequently 
changed  and  often  sent  to  another  fortress.  No  one 
might  know  the  victim's  burial  place,  where  he 
was  immured  with  only  a  jug  of  water,  a  loaf  of 

237 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

bread;  and  the  rats  robbed  him  of  half  of  these. 
Oblivion  in  life,  oblivion  in  death. 

We  were  in  the  deepest,  darkest  dungeonway 
of  the  gigantic  fortress,  La  Cabaiia,  which  crowns 
the  height  across  the  bay  from  Havana.  The  pas- 
sage was  about  four  feet  wide.  Along  one  side 
were  narrow,  low  arches,  some  three  feet  in  span. 
Most  of  these  arches  were  wholly  filled  with  a  wall 
of  large  loose  rock.  Air  might  pass  through  be- 
tween the  chinks,  and  the  rats  and  lizards  could 
crawl  through ;  an  empty  rat,  not  one  full-fattened 
on  the  dead  within.  A  few  of  these  walls  had  been 
torn  down,  and  the  scattered  bones  which  sharp 
teeth  had  not  destroyed  had  been  utterly  gathered 
together  and  buried  in  the  beautiful  cemetery  of  the 
city.  But  most  of  these  walls  were  yet  untouched, 
the  story  of  their  unknown  dead  forever  lost.  My 
foot  hit  something,  I  bent  down  and  picked  up 
the  tibia  of  a  human  arm;  the  rats  had  dragged  it 
through  the  wall.  I  laid  it  back  gently  on  a  pro- 
jecting shelf  of  rock,  my  soul  filled  with  horror, 
at  the  tale  of  Spanish  cruelty  it  told. 

We  were  a  long  way  from  daylight.  We  had 
crossed  a  moat  within  the  giant  fortress.  We  had 
passed  many  caye-like  chambers  built  into  the  mas- 
sive masonry — the  casemates  where  soldiers  and 
officers  had  lived  in  ease.  We  had  entered  a  small 
room  with  stone  seats  on  either  hand.     It  was  the 

238 


< 

•I 

m 
< 

o 


Cuba — Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

outer  guardroom  of  the  series  of  dungeons  behind. 
We  had  pushed  open  an  immense  iron  grating  which 
swung  on  rusty  hinges  Hke  a  door.  We  had  come 
into  a  vast  vaulted  chamber,  flagged  with  huge 
stones,  the  center  of  the  floor  being  lower  than  the 
sides,  making  the  drain.  Along  the  walls  on  either 
hand,  all  the  way,  at  a  height  of  about  seven  feet, 
were  heavy  iron  rings.  To  these  rings  the  prisoners 
had  been  chained.  Sometimes  the  chains  were  riv- 
eted to  iron  collars  welded  about  the  neck.  A  man 
might  stand  on  tiptoe  in  comfort.  When  his  toes 
gave  out  the  collar  pinched  his  neck;  he  sometimes 
died  overnight  before  the  jail  guard  discovered 
that  his  toes  were  weak.  Into  this  great  chamber 
hundreds  of  Cuban  patriots  had  been  crowded.  No 
air  could  enter  but  through  the  narrow  grated  door, 
— no  light  could  penetrate  but  the  faint  glimmering 
that  drifted  in  through  the  small  outer  doorway. 
Those  who  might  die  were  brought  to  the  grating 
by  any  of  their  fellow-prisoners  whose  fetters  en- 
abled them  to  move.  The  great  chamber  still  stank 
with  the  reek  of  blasted  mortality.  But  this  was 
not  all.  At  the  far  end  of  the  vast  room  was  yet 
another  grated  door,  now  swung  open  upon  rust- 
ing hinges.  We  passed  Into  a  second  chamber, 
lower  and  longer  than  the  first,  obscure  with  per- 
petual gloom.  The  faintest  gleam  of  God's  sweet 
day  could  be  scarcely  discerned  through  the  dis- 

239 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

tant  door-grating  of  the  first  chamber.  Here,  too, 
men  had  been  chained  to  Iron  rings  at  intervals 
along  either  side.  With  our  lighted  candle  end, 
we  scanned  the  massive  walls  and  tried  here  and 
there  to  make  out  the  faintly  remaining  legend,  in 
faulty  Spanish  script,  of  the  hapless  creature  who 
had  graven  here  his  dying  word.  In  this  remote 
dungeon,  men  were  pent  up  to  die  of  meagre  food, 
of  putrid  water,  of  perpetual  darkness,  and  of  the 
foul  hot  air  that  crept  in  from  the  outer  dungeon. 
I  thought  surely  we  should  have  no  further 
horrors  yet  to  see.  But  Captain  Maclrvine  knew 
the  way.  He  had  been  among  the  first  American 
soldiers  to  enter  La  Cabafia  and  to  discover  the 
mysteries  of  these  unknown  and  sometime  for- 
gotten dungeons.  At  the  far  end  of  the  second 
chamber,  he  pushed  open  a  heavy  solid  iron  door. 
He  entered  a  narrow  passage  barely  three  feet  wide 
and  so  low  that  I  had  to  stoop.  "Mind  where  you 
set  your  foot.  Take  care  of  your  head.  Go  slow," 
he  cried  warningly;  and  we  found  ourselves  going 
down  a  steep  decline.  The  air  was  dank  and  fetid. 
My  throbbing  head  was  dull  and  heavy.  Before 
our  approach  scurried  a  too  venturesome  rat.  I 
stepped  upon  the  slimy  body  of  a  lizard.  My  ear 
detected  the  retreat  of  hosts  of  scorpions  as  they 
clicked  their  cumbrous  claws,  but  I  heard  the  dis- 
mal winging  of  no  bats;  here  was  too  deadly  an 

240 


Cuba — Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

atmosphere  for  even  these  to  live.  We  came 
abruptly  to  a  rock-wall,  loose,  but  firmly  set  in  a 
low  arched  depression.  The  passage  widened  and 
turned  at  right  angles,  both  right  and  left.  It  was 
here  we  saw  the  approaching  light  and  met  the 
Cuban  officer  and  the  ladies. 

When  we  found  our  way  out  to  the  clear,  sweet 
sunshine  again,  and  I  looked  into  the  blue  sky  arch- 
ing over  my  head,  and  scented  in  my  nostrils  the 
fragrant  breeze  which  swept  up  from  the  sea,  and 
then  looked  up  and  beheld  floating  spotless  and 
resplendent,  above  me  and  above  La  Cabana  and 
above  Cuba,  now  free,  my  beloved  flag,  the  flag 
of  my  own  free  land,  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  my 
heart  quickened.  I  choked  a  little,  and  I  knew 
what  Cuba  and  the  world  had  gained  through  the 
blood  and  tears  poured  out  by  my  country  In  order 
that  Spanish  tyranny  should  be  forever  expelled 
from  its  last  stronghold  this  side  the  sea. 

Captain  Maclrvine  and  I  had  met  that  after- 
noon near  the  gateway  of  the  customshouse  in  Ha- 
vana, by  the  water  side.  We  had  taken  one  of  the 
curious,  blunt-ended,  awning-covered  rowboats, 
which  will  hold  a  dozen  passengers,  and  which 
everywhere  crowd  along  the  quays.  We  had  hired 
the  old  Cuban  waterman  for  the  afternoon,  and 
bade  him  row  us  to  the  water  stage  of  La  Cabaiia, 
set  us  ashore  and  then  meet  us  at  the  water  gate  of 
16  241 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

El  Moro,  three  hours  later  in  the  afternoon.  He 
was  brown  and  withered,  with  grim  square  jaw  and 
fine  dark  eyes.  He  was  a  Cuban  patriot.  He  had 
himself  spent  nigh  two  years  in  the  gloomy  dun- 
geons of  the  fortress,  his  family  having  long  given 
him  up  for  dead;  and  all  because  in  his  secret  heart 
he  dared  to  love  Cuba  Libre. 

La  Cabana  is  the  largest  Spanish  fortification 
in  the  New  World.  It  has  been  several  centuries 
in  growing  to  its  immense  dimensions.  Crowning 
the  heights  across  the  bay  from  the  city  of  Havana, 
its  record  of  compulsory  guests  is  a  record  of  three 
centuries  of  the  grief  and  agony  of  a  race.  Eigh- 
teen to  twenty  millions  of  dollars  in  gold  have  been 
spent  upon  Its  vast  and  massive  walls  and  ram- 
parts. Its  moats  and  fosses.  Impregnable  was 
It  deemed  to  be  by  the  Spanish  engineers,  and  the 
United  States  did  not  have  to  try  what  its  strength 
might  be  in  fact.  Up  the  narrow,  slanting,  rock- 
paved  causeway  from  the  water  side  to  the  stern 
stone  portals  of  the  single  entrance  have  passed  a 
long  procession  of  Cuban  patriots — men  and  wo- 
men, mere  boys  and  white-haired  men ;  and  few  are 
they  who  ever  came  out  again.  They  died  in  the 
dungeons  by  scores,  and  their  bodies  were  buried  In 
trenches,  or,  borne  through  the  subterranean  pas- 
sage to  the  ramparts  of  El  Moro,  were  there 
thrown  to  the  sharks  in  the  open  sea.     Those  of 

242 


< 

< 
m 
< 


Cuba — Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

lesser  note  who  dared  yet  to  live,  were  taken  by 
platoons  to  a  scarred  and  dented  wall  and  shot  to 
death.  This  spot  is  hallowed  ground  to  the  free 
man  of  to-day.  We  stood  before  it  with  uncovered 
heads.  A  little  fence  stakes  it  in,  a  bronze  tablet 
Is  set  against  the  bullet-battered  wall  of  rock. 
The  grass  before  us,  so  luxuriant,  has  been 
drenched  with  the  noblest  blood  of  Cuba's  patriots. 
The  Cuban  soldier  guarding  the  gateway  watclied 
us  lift  our  hats  before  the  sacred  and  consecrated 
plot  of  martyred  earth.  He  JDOwed  to  us  respect- 
fully as  we  re-entered,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
there  was  a  deeper,  kindlier  glitter  than  casual 
greeting  In  his  black  eye. 

A  great  garrison  of  regular  troops  was  always 
kept  In  military  readiness  in  La  Cabana;  now  a 
single  company  of  Cuban  infantry  occupies  the 
fortress.  Cuba  free  and  fifty  Cuban  soldiers  In 
La  Cabaiia ;  Cuba  a  Spanish  province  and  fifty 
thousand  bayonets  to  garrison  and  hold  Havana 
down,  one  single  town ! 

Many  ancient  guns  yet  adorn  the  ramparts  of 
La  Cabana,  the  newer  artillery  having  been  re- 
moved to  Spain,  or,  some  say,  sunk  In  the  sea.  The 
old  chapel  now  serves  for  a  sleeping  room  for  the 
Cuban  guard.  The  bell  which  tolled  so  often  for 
the  lost  souls  of  the  condemned  is  now  gone.  The 
fount  of  holy  water  Is  a  receptacle  for  junk.    The 

243 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

well-worn  flight  of  steps  ascending  to  the  roof,  no 
longer  responds  to  the  tread  of  the  thousands  of 
feet  that  used  to  press  them.  Right  over  the 
chapel,  near  the  place  where  swung  the  bell,  stood 
the  garrote  where,  it  is  said,  more  than  sixty  thou- 
sand throats  have  been  clasped  and  crushed  by  the 
iron  grips.  Perhaps  nowhere  in  the  world  have  so 
many  souls  been  shriven  as  in  the  chapel  of  La 
Cabaiia,  and  nowhere  have  so  many  lives  gone  out 
as  by  this  dread  instrument  of  death.  And  yet,  as 
we  stood  on  this  high  platform,  with  the  balmy  air 
of  now  free  Cuba  filling  our  lungs,  and  watched 
tTie  Cuban  soldiery  pacing  their  beat  in  the  park 
below,  it  seemed,  in  the  serene  and  restful  humor 
of  the  day,  almost  incredible  that  only  three  short 
years  ago,  at  most  but  four,  here  had  been  enacted 
a  daily  tragedy  of  cruelty  and  horror  which  no  hu- 
man pen  will  ever  be  adequate  actually  to  portray. 
Back  in  the  year  1894,  when  I  had  bought  a 
few  Cuban  bonds,  and  in  1896,  when  I  had  raised 
the  Cuban  flag  on  my  McKinley  pole  at  Coalburg, 
I  had  felt  in  a  dim  way  that  I  was  doing  a  thing  en- 
tirely right;  but  it  was  not  until  I  stood  upon  the 
ramparts  of  La  Cabana,  and  considered  the  mon- 
strous pitilessness  of  Spanish  rule,  and  saw  within 
the  focus  of  my  vision  the  demonstrated  proof  of 
cruelty  beyond  all  conception  in  the  present  age, — 
only  then,  did  I  fully  realize  how  God  had  guided 

244 


Cuba — Fortress  of  La  Cabana 

the  hearts  and  thews  of  my  countrymen  in  render- 
ing forever  impossible  the  continuance  of  these  in- 
iquities. 

From  La  Cabaiia  we  wandered  across  a  stretch 
of  grassy  sward  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  to  the  parapets 
of  El  Moro.  Builded  upon  a  profound  rock  foun- 
dation it  guards  the  angle  of  the  land  between  the 
open  sea  and  the  far  shore  of  Havana  Bay.  Above 
it,  as  above  La  Cabaiia,  floats  the  starry  flag. 
Within  it  resides  a  sturdy,  clean-cut,  trim-built  gar- 
rison of  our  own  boys  in  blue.  It  did  me  good  to 
see  them.  Vigorous  and  businesslike  they  looked. 
Young  men,  well-kept,  clear-eyed,  expressing  in 
their  look  and  gait  the  easy  mastery  of  the  youth- 
ful, giant  power  whose  simple  uniform  they  wear. 
El  Moro  was  never  a  prison  fortress,  although 
there  are  said  to  be  dungeons  yet  undiscovered,  dug 
deep  into  the  rock  base  on  which  it  stands.  Nor 
is  It  now  a  fort  which  could  withstand  an  attack  by 
modern  guns.  But  in  the  ancient  time  it  was  an 
impregnable  pile,  and  stands  to-day,  a  fine  exam- 
ple of  what  the  military  art  taught  men  to  build 
in  centuries  gone  by. 

Most  of  the  guns  are  old  and  out  of  date,  nota- 
bly a  dozen  of  immense  size  known  among  the 
soldier  boys  as  the  "Twelve  Apostles,"  while  just 
one  or  two  of  modern  make  poke  their  noses  toward 
the  city  and  the  sea. 

245 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

From  El  Moro  we  descended  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  finding  our  boatman,  were  ferried  across 
to  the  tranquil  city.  The  sun  was  sinking  behind 
the  highlands  in  the  west;  the  azure  sky  had  grown 
to  purple  all  barred  with  gold  and  red.  The  golden 
light  of  eventide  illumined  the  city  as  with  an  aure- 
ole. It  seemed  to  me  a  hallowing  benison  over 
Cuba  now  forever  free. 


246 


XXII 

Cuba  —  Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands  — 
Matanzas  by  the  Sea 

Havana,  Cuba, 

December  27th. 

A  cup  of  chocolate,  a  roll,  a  pat  of  guava  paste, 
such   was   my    desayuno,    my   breakfast.      Sehor 

G ,  Superintendent  of  Civic  Training  in  the 

Schools  of  Cuba,  had  also  had  his  morning  cof- 
fee, and  was  awaiting  me  at  the  broad  portal  of 
the  hotel.  We  call  a  cocha,  bade  the  cochero  drive 
us  to  the  ferry  on  the  bay,  and  were  soon  rattling 
through  Havana's  narrow,  rough-paved  streets. 
It  was  early,  not  yet  six  o'clock.  But  the  people 
of  the  tropics  rise  betimes  and  the  busy  life  of  the 
day  was  well  begun.  We  could  look  right  into 
the  courtyards,  and  even  into  the  living  rooms 
of  the  houses,  so  close  did  our  cocha  wheel  to  the 
open  doorways  and  to  the  wide-lifted  curtains  of 
the  glassless  windows.  A  young  mother  looked 
curiously  through  the  iron  bars  of  a  window  front 
at  the  Americanos.  She  held  her  laughing  baby 
daughter  in  her  arms.    A  pair  of  slippered  feet, 

247 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

a  coral  necklace,  a  friendly  smile,  and  it  was 
clothed  for  the  day.  A  family  sat  at  a  long  table, 
each  sipping  the  clear  black  coffee.  The  mother 
was  smoking  a  huge  black  cigar,  the  father  a 
cigar  of  more  moderate  size,  the  children  were  all 
smoking  cigarettes.  Scantily  clad  peddlers  were 
crying  their  goods,  one  his  back  piled  high  with 
tinware.  Women  were  carrying  on  their  heads 
big  baskets  of  fruit.  An  ancient  jet-black  African 
woman  trudged  along  with  a  squealing  shoat,  tied 
by  the  four  legs  and  slung  to  her  shoulder.  A 
drove  of  she-donkeys  were  standing  before  an  open 
doorway;  their  owner  was  milking  one  of  them, 
the  buyer  was  standing  near  so  as  to  be  sure  that 
the  morning's  milk  should  be  the  real  thing.  The 
shops,  however,  were  not  yet  open.  It  was  too 
early  for  buyers.  But  the  awnings  were  being 
spread  over  the  streets,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  the 
sun  when  it  should  wax  hot. 

As  we  approached  the  neighborhood  of  the 
bay,  the  press  of  footfarers  in  the  streets  increased. 
The  narrow  sidewalks  and  even  the  street  itself 
were  filled  with  men  and  women  moving  toward 
the  ferry.  Our  cochero  cracked  his  whip  and  hal- 
looed at  the  crowd,  and  they  fled  out  of  the  way, 
quite  good-naturedly.  I  was  trying  to  light  my 
cigar,  but  the  motion  of  the  vehicle  blew  out  the 
match.     I  had  just  struck  a  third.     A  woman  on 

248 


Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands 

the  sidewalk  saw  my  fix.  She  called  to  the  cochero 
and  pointed  to  me.  He  stopped  his  horse  upon  its 
haunches.  He  waited  until  my  cigar  was  alight, 
then  he  drove  on.  Such  is  the  custom  in  a  city 
where  every  man  and  woman  smokes  and  El  Se- 
garo  Is  the  King. 

At  the  long,  low-roofed  ferry  house  there 
was  a  great  crowd,  an  uncommon  press.  We  paid 
our  cochero  a  peseta  (twenty  cents),  dismissed 
him  and  strode  among  the  thick  of  the  throng. 

In  Its  midst  were  a  group  of  gentlemen  In  white 
panama  hats  and  white  linen  clothes.  One  of  them 
was  short  and  stout  with  gray  mustachios,  pointed 
goatee  and  flowing  gray  hair.  It  was  General 
Masso,  the  candidate  of  the  Massolsta  Party  for 
President.  I  had  met  him  the  night  when  he  made 
his  great  speech  to  his  cheering  followers  In  front 
of  the  Hotel  Pasaje,  and  told  them  all  to  refrain 
from  voting  when  the  day  for  elections  should 
arrive,  "for  were  not  all  the  Palmalstas  scoundrels 
and  thieves  and  would-be  usurpers  of  power, 
backed,  too,  by  Yankee  bayonets!  What  use  was 
It  to  vote  or  try  to  vote  against  such  combinations 
for  wrong  and  ill?  No !  let  the  Massolstas  remain 
at  home,  and  by  the  smallness  of  the  vote  cast 
let  the  world  see  that  the  real  strength  of  the 
Cuban  people  was  not  with  Palma,  the  puppet  of 
American  power,  but  with  the  real  people  of  Cuba, 

249 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

whose  day  would  In  the  future  surely  come !"  And 
had  not  the  assembled  multitude  filled  the  air  with 
shouts  of  "Bravo/  Viva  Masso!"  With  him  was 
Seiior  Hernandez,  candidate  for  the  Vice-presi- 
dency of  the  Massoista  Party,  who  had  also  stood 
on  a  pile  of  boxes  and  stirred  the  excited  multi- 
tude with  eloquence  even  more  intemperate.  And 
there  was  also  Sehor  Gualberto  Gomez,  the  great- 
est orator  of  Cuba,  short,  stout,  gray-haired,  with 
gold  spectacles — a  Spanish  mulatto,  the  real  leader 
of  the  great,  turbulent,  Afro-Spanish  race ;  the  pow- 
erful backer  of  the  Massoistas,  who  it  is  said,  had 
welded  the  third  of  Cuba's  Negro-Spanish  popula- 
tion into  a  solid  political  machine,  bounden  to- 
gether with  the  secret  ties  of  occult  brotherhood. 
His  impetuous  eloquence  it  was  which  swept  the 
Constitutional  Convention,  and  carried  the  plank 
for  universal  suffrage  triumphantly  to  victory 
against  predetermined  plans  of  the  Conservative 
leaders.  He  would  now  have  his  following  hold 
the  balance  of  power  In  Cuba,  and  so  rule  the 
Island  as  does  his  race  In  Haytl  and  San  Domingo ! 
For  the  present,  he  would  use  the  Massoistas  and 
their  pro-Spanish  propaganda,  later  he  would 
throw  aside  the  Spanish  following  and  himself 
rule  Cuba  through  the  power  of  his  organized 
blacks.  Young  Garcia  was  there,  too,  the  son 
of  the  great  leader,  discontented  with  the  minor 

250 


CO 

X 

-a 
> 

?; 

I 

> 

> 

Z 
N 
> 


BHMk    'Sr^^^' '   '^^ 

I  f 

^•«f 

KjijS '.^           '^^^^B|^^^ 

Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands 

role  Palma  and  the  Americans  have  permitted  him 
to  play,  and  anxious  for  a  Cuba  wholly  free  from 
the  interference  of  the  American  as  well  as  the 
Spaniard.  Yes,  these  leaders  were  all  there,  and 
the  great  square  before  the  ferry  house  was  packed 
with  a  cheering  multitude  to  bid  them  good-bye, 
and  Masso  "God  speed"  on  his  journey  to  his 
plantation  home.  When  I  met  these  gentlemen 
before,  I  enjoyed  free  and  frank  talk  with  them, 
and  they  had  made  no  scruple  in  voicing  to  me 
their  policies  and  demands: — their  determination 
to  rule  or  ruin;  their  policy  to  refrain  from  voting 
and  then  later  rise  in  armed  revolt.  This  morning 
they  were  all  gathered  here  to  take  a  last  farewell 
of  their  really  loved  chief,  Masso,  a  fine  old  patriot 
with  a  famous  war  record,  whom  many  now  think 
that  men  more  cunning  than  himself  are  using  for 
their  own  selfish  ends. 

The  ferryboat  was  ancient  in  make  and  slow 
in  movement.  We  were  to  cross  the  bay  to  the 
little  suburb  where  we  were  to  take  the  train  which 
was  to  carry  us  through  the  rolling  country  and 
level  plains  of  middle  Cuba  Into  the  rich  and  fer- 
tile sugar-producing  province  of  Matanzas. 

Our  track  over  the  now  clear  waters  of  the 
bay  led  us  close  alongside  the  crushed  and  bended 
wreckage  of  the  United  States  Steamship  Maine, 
while  not  far  beyond  lay  at  easy  anchor  three  mod- 

251 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

ern  warboats  of  the  navy,  the  Kearsarge,  the  Keri' 
tucky  and  the  Massachusetts,  a  proud  trio  for 
Spanish  and  Cuban  eyes  to  look  upon.  The  wreck 
still  lies  there,  its  lonely  foremast  a  mournful  mon- 
ument to  the  tragedy  it  marks. 

The  railroad  runs  almost  due  east,  from  the 
low-lying  suburbs,  and  passes  close  by  the  village 
of  Guanabacoa,  where  were  gathered  so  many  of 
the  reconcentrados,  where  Spanish  cruelty  devel- 
oped its  most  wanton  crimes,  and  where  yellow 
fever  played  most  deadly  havoc  with  Spaniard  and 
with  Cuban  alike.  We  sped  between  rolling  grass- 
covered  hills,  passing  great  groves  of  that  most 
graceful  and  stately  of  tropic  trees,  the  royal  palm, 
large  plantings  of  luxuriant  bananas,  and  many 
cocoanut  palms  as  well.  The  country  was  more  flat 
than  toward  the  west,  and  soon  we  were  moving 
through  wide  reaches  of  the  feathery  sugar  cane. 
There  were  miles  of  it,  leagues  of  it,  and  all  taller 
and  more  robust  than  the  cane  I  saw  while  travers- 
ing the  sugar  lands  of  Louisiana. 

In  the  black,  deep  and  wonderfully  fertile  soil, 
the  cane  grows  without  care  or  heed.  Here  the 
cane  once  planted  need  not  be  reset  for  full  twenty 
years,  and  the  stock  may  be  cut  at  six  months'  in- 
tervals through  all  that  time.  No  wonder  the 
sugar-growers  of  Louisiana  cry  aloud,  for  they 
must  reset  their  roots  every  third  year,  and  can 

252 


Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands 

only  count  on  two  sugar  crops  from  that;  while 
their  cane  does  not  yield  nearly  so  much  sugar  to 
the  ton  as  the  crops  from  these  Cuban  lands.  Nor 
can  the  sugar  grower  of  the  Florida  Everglades 
compete  with  the  fertility  of  Cuba.  Seven  years, 
at  most,  to  a  single  root  is  there  the  limit,  five 
years  is  more  often  the  rule,  and  the  stalk  is  but 
little  sweeter  than  that  of  Louisiana  growth.  The 
American  sugar  men  are  now  scouting  the  land  in 
Cuba.  I  met  them  from  Louisiana  and  from  Texas 
and  from  Florida.  They  are  bound  to  come  in 
numbers  greater  yet. 

For  many  miles  we  traversed  these  waving 
cane  fields,  passing  many  villages  and  smoking 
sugar  mills  at  work,  teams  of  fat  oxen  hauling  in 
the  cane,  miniature  railroads  dragging  in  long 
train  loads  of  cane  to  the  factories,  and  thousands 
of  men  and  many  women  working  in  the  fields, 
these  lifting  their  faces  from  toil  to  gaze  momen- 
tarily at  our  train  as  it  hurried  by. 

At  one  station  a  bridal  company  entered  the 
train;  the  groom  was  clad  in  black  broadcloth,  the 
bride  was  gowned  in  soft  white  fabric,  a  graceful 
white  mantiUa  of  priceless  lace  falling  over  her 
thick  black  braids.  Their  friends  were  all  there 
to  see  them  off,  and  cheered  with  many  vivas,  show- 
ering them  with  rice  as  they  entered  the  car,  fol- 

253 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

lowed  by  the  burly  bulk  of  the  cassock-clad  padre 
who  had  made  them  one. 

Matanzas,  which  claims  to  be  the  most  health- 
ful city  of  all  Cuba,  Is  situated  some  fifty  miles  al- 
most due  east  of  Havana  facing  a  beautiful  bay, 
and  spans  the  mouths  of  two  small  rivers,  whose 
verdant  valleys  stretch  behind  the  town.  The  city 
is  ancient,  and  Is  spread  for  the  most  part  along 
a  high,  long,  sloping  hill,  or  several  hills,  stretching 
back  and  up  from  the  arm  of  the  sea  on  which  It 
lies.  Here  has  been  wrought  under  the  skillful 
supervision  of  General  Wilson,  the  most  successful 
of  the  sanitary  regenerations  of  any  Cuban  town. 
The  city  has  been  sewered  in  modernwise  and 
macadamized  with  care,  and  is  supplied  with 
abundance  of  purest  water. 

We  alighted  at  the  commodious  railway  sta- 
tion, a  larger  and  better  structure  for  Its  purpose 
than  any  I  have  yet  seen  In  Cuba.  We  entrusted 
ourselves  to  the  care  of  a  tawney-hued  cochero, 
who  galloped  us  away  toward  the  heart  of  the 
town.  We  followed  a  long,  level,  wide  street, 
crossed  a  substantial  Iron  bridge  over  the  river  San 
Juan,  made  a  sharp  turn,  climbed  a  steep  pitch  of 
hill  and  stopped  before  the  chief  hotel.  Here  is 
a  little  courtyard,  at  the  farther  end  of  which 
hangs  a  life-size  portrait  of  Jose  Marte,  the  mar- 
tyred patriot.     We  sat  in  the  patio,  where  palms 

254 


A    GLIMPSE   OF    MATANZAS 


Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands 

waved  over  us,  and  coffee  and  delicious  fish  were 
brought  to  us  along  with  a  basket  of  oranges  such 
as  even  Florida  cannot  well  surpass.  Lighting  our 
cigars,  we  now  sauntered  into  the  fine,  old-fash- 
ioned, Spanish  gardens  of  the  Plaza,  laid  out  with 
precise  symmetry  and  guarded  by  low  iron  fences 
set  on  bases  of  carved  stone,  the  flowering  shrubs 
and  many  blooming  plants  being  half  hid  by  the 
iron  and  the  rock. 

We  viewed  the  cathedral,  a  small  square-tow- 
ered edifice  in  ill  repair,  and  then  visited  the  elab- 
orate and  commodious  building  for  the  public 
school,  now  in  vacation  emptiness,  and  then  we 
strolled  to  the  market  where  fruits  and  fish  were 
in  especial  abundance;  and  we  noted  everywhere 
the  multitude  of  Cubans  tan  and  black,  for  many 
negroes  live  in  salubrious  Matanzas. 

Then  we  climbed  the  long  hill,  until,  high 
behind  the  town,  we  came  to  a  hedge  of  cac- 
tus, an  open,  gate,  an  old  and  half-dismantled 
house.  Voices  of  children  rang  out  as  we  ap- 
proached the  wide  piazza.  A  blue-eyed  man 
with  firm  and  kindly  face,  a  little  pinched  and 
pale,  but  alight  with  high  purpose,  greeted  us 
at  the  door.  He  had  made  here  a  home  for 
motherless  waifs,  the  riffraff  and  refuse  of  the 
reconcentrado  camps,  whom  Spanish  heartless- 
ness  and  hunger  had  not  utterly  destroyed.     The 

255 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

man  came  from  Illinois,  and  with  his  own  small 
means  had  gathered  these  few  score  children,  all 
little  boys  here,  a  separate  home  for  the  little  girls 
yonder  across  the  hill;  had  drawn  to  him  a  com- 
pany of  kindly  Cubans,  and  here  set  up  and  now 
successfully  maintains,  asking  no  outside  aid  or 
alms,  these  homes  and  schools  for  the  saving  of 
the  little  bodies  and  their  souls.  The  youngsters 
are  the  picture  of  good  health.  Their  fare  is  the 
simplest;  their  instruction  kindly,  their  play  hours 
long.  They  grow  and  thrive,  and  some  day  will  be 
men  and  women  who  will  help  Cuba's  destiny  for 
weal  and  not  for  woe.  I  grouped  the  little  lads 
together  and  took  them  with  my  kodak,  and  cher- 
ish the  picture.  In  sad  contrast  with  the  party  of 
little  Mexican  boys  who  left  our  ship  at  Progresso, 
all  unconscious  of  the  brutal  slavery  and  death 
awaiting  them. 

We  also  visited  the  beautiful  and  simple  shrine 
and  chapel  of  Monserrat,  erected  by  the  descend- 
ants of  those  who  came  to  Cuba  from  the  Balearic 
Isles.  This  shrine  crowns  the  summit  of  a  hill 
overlooking  the  city.  We  here  tarried  long,  view- 
ing the  wide  reach  of  landscape  stretching  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  see  In  undulating  plains  toward 
the  south,  with  everywhere  vistas  of  ripening  cane, 
while  northward  wound  the  fertile  valley  of 
Ymurri  toward  the  famous  caves  of  Bellmar. 

256 


Cuba — Her  Fertile  Sugar  Lands 

"Ven'i  act,  Charley  Blue-eyes,"  they  called  after 
us  as  we  passed  along  the  narrow  streets.  Some 
of  the  voices  possessed  the  cadent  melody  of  the 
Spanish  maiden,  but  we  did  not  deign  to  turn, 
for  who  would  be  so  bold  as  to  call  us  "Charley 
Blue-eyes,"  we  should  like  to  know !  Many  chil- 
dren were  playing  along  the  curb,  and  few  of  them 
wore  even  a  coral  band  around  the  neck.  Quite 
as  God  made  them  they  were,  their  tan  and  swart 
skins,  showing  soft  as  satin  under  the  influence  of 
sunlight  and  fresh  air.  We  were  loath  to  bid  adieu 
to  the  delightful  city,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
charm  of  its  picturesque  location,  the  perfection 
of  its  smooth  macadam  streets,  the  cleanliness  of 
its  white  and  blue  and  yellow  houses.  Yellow  was 
the  hue  most  used  and  loved  by  the  Spaniards, 
blue  is  the  color  for  the  patriotic  Cuban.  Since 
Spanish  oppression  has  left  the  shores  of  Cuba, 
the  towns  and  cities  have  been  going  through  a 
steady  metamorphosis  from  the  yellow  to  the  blue. 

We  lingered  upon  the  fine  iron  bridge  span- 
ning the  river  San  Juan,  watching  the  abundant 
traffic  of  the  waters  beneath  us,  composed  chiefly 
of  fishing  and  fruit  boats,  although  some  were 
laden  with  more  bulky  commerce.  At  a  little  shop 
just  across  the  bridge,  we  tarried  to  fill  our  pock- 
ets with  delicious  cigars,  cheaper  than  even  our 
stogies  at  home;  and  we  let  the  boy  behind  the 
17  257 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

counter  take  up  a  huge  cocoanut  in  its  green  husk 
and  with  his  big  knife  hack  it  open  and  pour  out 
the  hquor  within.  "Milk,"  they  call  it,  but  more 
like  nectar  it  is,  and  he  filled  two  deep  glasses 
whose  contents  we  quaffed  with  great  content. 

The  stars  were  out  when  we  returned  to  the 
city  of  Havana.  The  American  squadron  was 
ablaze  with  electric  lights,  and  only  the  gloomy 
mast  of  the  Maine,  thrusting  above  the  placid  wa- 
ters, hinted  at  the  final  provocation  to  war  which 
so  short  a  time  ago  brought  to  Cuba  peace  with 
liberty. 


258 


DRESSED  FOR  THE  DAY 


XXIII 

Cuba — The  Tobacco  Lands  of  Guana- 
jay — The  Town  and  Bay  of  Mariel 

GuANAJAY,  Cuba, 

December  28th. 

It  was  dark.  Through  the  wide-open  window 
of  my  chamber  crept  the  soft  morning  air  of  the 
tropics.  Some  one  was  shaking  my  door  and 
crying,  "Hay  las  seis,  Hay  las  sets."  It  was  six 
o'clock.  I  was  to  leave  on  the  seven  o'clock  train 
for  Guanajay,  and  the  fertile  tobacco  plantations 
of  Pinar  del  Rio.  In  the  spacious,  airy  dining 
room,  I  was  the  first  guest  at  desayiino. 

The  railways  of  Cuba  and  the  railway  coaches 
are  yet  of  the  antiquated  sort.  Our  car  must  have 
been  made  fifty  years  ago,  with  its  small  seats  of 
hard  plank  and  windows  without  glass.  The  clerk 
who  sold  tickets  spoke  no  English.  I  just  kept 
putting  down  Spanish  dollars  until  he  said  ''bas- 
tante"  (enough).  Later,  I  found  that,  presuming 
on  my  ignorance  and  the  throng  pushing  behind 
me,  he  had  gathered  in  two  dollars  too  much,  to 
his  personal  profit.    The  railway  is  owned  by  Eng- 

259 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

lishmen,  although  run  by  Cubans.  We  rolled 
slowly  out  of  the  city  toward  the  west.  We  looked 
upon  high  stone  walls,  now  and  then  catching  a 
glimpse  of  a  garden  through  an  open  gateway,  and 
then  ran  between  perfectly  tilled  market  gardens 
with  rich  black  soil,  many  Chinamen  working  in 
them. 

Beyond  the  gardens,  we  passed  stately  build- 
ings and  the  beautiful  park  surrounding  the  Span- 
ish Captain  General's  summer  palace,  where  are 
ponds  and  fountains,  palms  and  blooming  shrubs. 
All  these  are  now  owned  by  the  Republic  of  Cuba, 
and  are  some  day  to  be  converted  into  a  pleasure 
ground  for  the  people,  just  as  are  in  France  the 
ancient  royal  palaces  and  gardens  of  Versailles 
and  Fontainebleau.  As  our  train  rolled  west,  it 
gradually  approached  a  range  of  hills,  where  are 
now  many  pineapple  farms,  yielding  pineapples 
which  put  the  tiny  Florida  plant  to  the  blush — big, 
luscious  and  juicy.  A  young  man  from  Boston 
sat  next  me.  He  was  looking  for  pineapple  land. 
He  meant  to  quit  the  snow  and  ice  of  New  Eng- 
land. He  would  buy  a  plantation  and  settle  and 
live  In  Cuba,  where,  thank  God,  the  ice  blight 
never  comes,  where  man  has  only  to  plant  and 
nature  abundantly  does  the  rest.  We  passed  many 
orange  groves,  and  lemon  and  lime  and  mango 
trees  which  the  Spaniards  had  failed  to  destroy. 

260 


Cuba — Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 

Their  branches  were  heavy  with  yellow,  golden, 
ripe  fruit.  Here,  where  is  no  terror  of  frosts, 
many  a  frozen-out  Floridian  is  now  arrived  or  is 
on  the  way.  The  orange  of  Cuba  is  sweet,  juicy 
and  luscious,  and  some  day  Americans  will  here 
raise  them  and  sell  them  in  New  York,  and  in  this 
way  win  back  the  money  they  have  lost  in  Florida. 
As  we  passed  along,  we  traversed  many  sugar  plan- 
tations, once  cultivated,  now  abandoned.  The 
•black  and  ruined  chimneys  and  dilapidated  walls 
of  their  factories  were  eloquent  witness  of  devas- 
tation and  war.  But  the  smaller  farmsteads  looked 
prosperous.  Beside  each  dwelling  was  usually  a 
grove  of  plantains  and  bananas.  The  latter,  com- 
monly thin  skinned  and  fragrant,  are  as  small  as 
two  of  your  fingers  and  most  delicious.  A  young 
couple  plant  a  banana  grove  when  they  set  up 
housekeeping,  and  thereafter  have  bananas  at  hand 
all  their  lives. 

At  many  of  the  houses  we  saw  the  Cuban  flag 
floating  from  the  staff  top.  "Cuba  Libre"  is  in  the 
hearts  of  all  these  rural  people.  I  told  a  Cuban 
fellow-passenger,  that  I,  too,  had  raised  that  flag, 
the  first  to  do  so  in  my  State,  and  he  thereafter 
treated  me  like  a  brother.  I  had  touched  his  heart. 
We  passed  a  deep,  wide  stream,  flowing  with  a 
clear  full  tide.  It  is  the  overflow  from  the  won- 
derful spring  which  supplies  to  Havana  its  water. 

261 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

It  bursts  from  the  ground  a  full-grown  river. 
Havana  has  dammed  it,  bridled  it,  and  through 
huge  pipes,  carries  its  abundant  and  pellucid  flood 
into  her  streets  and  houses,  furnishing  fresh,  sweet, 
pure  water  for  the  multitude.  A  few  miles  further 
on,  we  saw  another  river  plunge  suddenly  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  Full  and  brimming  it  flows 
along,  and  then  all  at  once  disappears  forever  into 
a  mysterious  hole.  The  Spaniards  have  here  raised 
a  chapel  and  set  up  a  big  cross,  for  must  not  this 
engulfing  cavern  be  one  of  the  gates  to  hell  ?  And 
what  more  certain  than  a  house  of  God  to  frighten 
off  the  devil! 

We  are  now  in  the  midst  of  some  of  the  finest 
tobacco  lands  of  the  world.  This  part  of  Cuba 
is  founded  on  a  coral  reef.  The  lime  of  the  coral 
has  here  permeated  the  ground.  Red  and  choco- 
late and  brown-black,  the  soil  contains  just  those 
chemical  Ingredients  which  tobacco  needs.  No 
other  land  has  anywhere  yet  been  found  just  like 
it,  and  no  other  tobacco  grows  with  quite  the  same 
fragrant  quality  of  leaf.  All  the  world  wants  this 
Cuban  tobacco.  Therefrom  the  French  govern- 
ment makes  and  sells  cigars  and  cigarettes  and 
reaps  great  revenues.  The  Germans  also  want  the 
Cuban  tobacco  lands,  and  the  enterprising  Amer- 
ican Intends  sooner  or  later  to  have  his  share  of 
them.    How  would  you  feel,  my  smoking  brother, 

262 


ALONG  THE   MILITARY    ROAD, 
A  CEIBA   TREE 


Cuba — ^Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 

to  be  able  to  enjoy  a  delicious  Havana  cigar,  to  roll 
it  between  your  lips  and  inhale  the  perfume  of  its 
smoke,  all  for  the  price  of  three  cents  or  perhaps 
a  nickel?  The  Americans  are  quietly  acquiring  as 
great  an  acreage  as  possible  of  the  tobacco  lands 
of  Cuba.  These  lands  are  mainly  held  in  small 
farms  of  four  and  five  acres,  each  worked  by  a  sin- 
gle family,  who  devote  all  their  attention  to  the 
planting  of  the  seed,  the  raising  of  the  crop,  the 
drying  of  the  leaf,  and  even  the  final  making  of 
the  finished  cigar.  They  sell  the  cigars  at  their 
door,  or  take  them  to  the  town  and  sell  them  to 
the  dealers,  who  buy  and  then  put  on  their  own 
labels  and  place  them  in  the  market.  Nowhere 
in  the  United  States  will  nature  permit  a  tobacco 
leaf  to  stay  on  the  plant  until  It  Is  fully  ripe;  there 
Is  too  much  fear  of  frost.  But  In  Cuba  the  leaf 
hangs  to  the  stalk  In  the  sunshine  until  It  has 
reached  that  degree  of  ripeness  which  insures  the 
most  perfect  tone  and  flavor.  Thus  It  Is,  there  can 
be  no  other  tobacco  just  like  Cuba's,  for  nowhere 
on  earth  't  Is  said,  do  soil  and  climate  and  human 
skill  so  aptly  and  completely  combine  to  make  the 
product  perfect.  There  are  three  Islands  of  the 
sea  where  the  soil  Is  rich  and  fertile  beyond  all 
other  lands;  the  Island  of  Java,  owned  by  the 
Dutch;  the  island  of  Luzon,  chief  of  the  Phll- 

263 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

ippines,  and  the  island  of  Cuba.  And  in  this  one 
product,  It  is  claimed  that  Cuba  surpasses  them  all. 
We  left  the  train  at  Guana  jay — once  a  tobacco 
town  of  importance,  then  blasted  and  wasted  by 
war,  burned  and  ravaged,  and  now  regaining  its 
life  and  vigor.  Here  we  took  an  open  carriage 
and  drove  toward  Mariel,  upon  a  noble  highway 
quite  sixty  feet  wide,  and  all  macadamized  and 
ditched — a  Spanish  military  road,  once  lined  and 
shaded  with  gigantic  and  umbrageous  trees;  now 
bare  of  this  magnificent  bordery  by  reason  of  the 
war.  The  Spanish  soldiery  cut  them  down,  lest 
here  and  there  an  insurgent  might  lie  concealed. 
The  road  wound  over  a  line  of  low  hills,  and  then 
descended  to  the  sea.  Along  the  ridge,  at  intervals, 
were  yet  to  be  seen  the  "blockhouses"  of  the  west- 
ern Spanish  Trocha.  My  friend,  Captain  Reno, 
beside  me,  had  been  an  officer  of  the  insurgent 
army.  An  American  volunteer,  with  blood  full 
of  red  corpuscles,  he  served  all  through  the  revo- 
lutionary struggle,  fighting  the  Spaniards  just  for 
the  joy  of  war.  He  crossed  this  Trocha  with 
Gomez  in  his  famous  raid.  The  Spanish  soldiers 
hid  within  their  houses  and  shot  from  their  loop- 
holes. But  Gomez  and  Reno  cut  down  the  wire 
barriers,  rode  through  and  dared  to  enter  the 
suburbs  of  Havana.  The  superb  road  gradually 
winds  toward  the  bay  of  Mariel.    On  our  way,  we 

264 


Cuba — Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 

passed  a  new  railroad  being  built  by  Americans, 
back,  to  an  asphalt  lake;  Mariel  will  be  their  port, 
the  bay  their  harbor. 

Near  to  us  on  the  left  lay  another  American 
colony, — a  group  of  Western  folk  who  have  come 
to  Cuba  to  stay.  The  bay  of  Mariel,  next  to  that 
of  Havana,  is  the  finest  harbor  on  the  western 
coast.  At  its  entrance,  high  on  a  reef,  lies  the 
Spanish  warship,  Alfonso  XII,  driven  on  the  rocks 
by  American  naval  guns.  Along  the  shores  of 
this  beautiful  bay,  it  is  said,  will  grow  up  the  New- 
port of  Cuba.  Nowhere  are  there  so  well-  pro- 
tected waters,  nowhere  is  there  so  picturesque  a 
panorama.  Here  you  see  palms,  royal,  cocoanut, 
and  date,  and  fields  of  sugar  cane  and  groves  of 
bananas,  oranges  and  pomegranates,  and  then  the 
foaming,  restless  sea  far  out  beyond.  On  the  cor- 
ner of  a  shaded  street,  close  by  the  blue  waters 
of  the  bay,  we  stopped  at  a  modest,  unpainted 
house.  Within  it  we  met  a  clear-eyed,  sweet-faced 
woman — a  lady  from  North  Carolina,  a  Miss  Ed- 
wards, who  came  to  Cuba,  after  the  devilments  of 
Weyler  had  wrought  their  sad  havoc,  and  gath- 
ered up  a  little  company  of  starving  girls,  and  here 
has  given  them  a  home — forty  or  more  of  them. 
She  asks  no  outside  aid.  She  is  spending  her  own 
small  means.  The  people  of  the  town,  with  their 
Spanish  pitilessness  of  heart,  do  not  understand  why 

265 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

she  should  be  doing  so  strange  a  thing  as  to  pick 
up  and  care  for  the  dirty  progeny  of  dying  and 
dead  vagabonds.  Better  let  such  a  litter  die,  they 
say.  She  told  us  that  she  was  much  alone,  that 
even  yet  the  good  people  of  Mariel  treated  her 
with  suspicion.  If  she  were  a  government  official, 
they  could  comprehend,  but  they  cannot  understand 
how  or  why  anybody  should  take  so  great  a  care 
of  waifs  and  strays,  all  for  the  sake  of  the  hu- 
manity of  our  Lord. 

We  spent  the  night  at  Guanajay  in  an  old 
Spanish  inn,  very  tumbled  down,  partly  as  the  re- 
sult of  time,  largely  as  the  result  of  war.  We  ate 
our  evening  meal  in  a  spacious,  lofty  chamber,  sit- 
ting at  a  long  table.  The  company  was  chiefly 
made  up  of  tobacco  planters,  and  one  or  two  Cu- 
ban drummers,  while  right  in  front  of  us  sat  a 
Spanish  marquis  and  his  wife  with  their  English 
governess  for  the  children.  They  were  visiting 
Cuba  to  inspect  the  ancestral  sugar  estates,  and 
arrived  only  the  week  previous  from  Spain.  They 
treated  the  company  with  haughty  indifference, 
and  Ignored  the  poor  English  girl  as  though  she 
were  socially  altogether  out  of  their  sphere.  They 
helped  themselves  and  talked  to  the  children,  while 
the  governess  foraged  for  herself  or  went  without. 
It  reminded  me  of  those  mediaeval  times  one  reads 
about,  when  the  clergyman  resident  In  the  castle 

266 


Cuba — Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 

of  the  lord  sat  at  a  table  in  the  servant's  hall.  We 
took  pains  to  see  that  the  English  girl  received 
every  attention,  the  Marquis  glowering  savagely 
upon  us  when  we  passed  a  dish  to  the  governess 
rather  than  to  his  wife.  When  the  meal  was  over 
the  pair  stalked  loftily  from  the  dining  hall,  leav- 
ing the  governess  to  smile  upon  us  in  return  for 
our  pronounced  civilities,  momentarily  made  happy, 
for  the  first  time  perhaps  in  many  months. 

In  the  evening  we  visited  the  large  Reform 
School  for  boys,  which  has  been  established  by  the 
military  authorities  of  our  government  for  the 
care  of  waifs  whom  the  cruel  reconcentrado  pol- 
icy of  Weyler  deprived  of  kith  and  kin.  The  chil- 
dren looked  well-fed  and  content,  and  the  courteous 
Governor,  a  major  in  the  army,  assured  us  that  they 
throve  and  learned,  gave  little  trouble,  and  bade 
fair  to  become  good  men  and  citizens.  It  is  in 
this  sort  of  thing,  the  Home  for  the  little  boys 
near  Matanzas,  the  charity  of  Miss  Edwards  at 
Mariel  in  caring  for  the  motherless  little  girls, 
the  charity  of  our  government  in  providing  so 
generously  for  these  boys,  that  is  seen  the  differ- 
ence In  spirit  of  American  civilization  from  the 
hard  and  callous  pitilessness  of  Spain.  The  Span- 
iard and  the  Cuban  care  for  their  own  with  ten- 
derness, but  they  look  with  indifference  upon  the 
suffering  of  others,  nor  do  they  comprehend  why 

267 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

they  should  lift  a  finger  to  help  anyone  beyond 
the  narrow  circle  of  their  own  family  or  social  set. 

We  have  also  called  upon  a  big,  gaunt,  sunny- 
faced  man  who  is  devoting  his  life  to  these  peo- 
ple as  a  missionary  of  the  Congregational  Church. 
He  is  from  Massachusetts,  a  man  of  education  who 
preaches  fluently  in  Spanish,  and  whose  labors 
have  met  extraordinary  success  among  the  Cuban 
population  of  Key  West.  He  has  now  been  trans- 
ferred to  Guanajay,  and  already  Is  creating  a  pro- 
found impression  in  a  community  which  has  never 
before  known  aught  but  an  indifferent  Roman 
priest. 

The  religious  conditions  of  Cuba  are  pecu- 
liar, I  am  told.  The  Bishops  and  Priesthood  of 
the  Roman  Church  have  been  supplied  by  old 
Spain  from  time  immemorial.  The  black  sheep 
of  the  Church  have  found  asylum  here.  Drawing 
their  salaries,  fretting  in  exile,  these  ne'er-do- 
wells  of  the  motherland  have  cared  little,  and  done 
less,  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  their  flocks. 
Guanajay  is  reputed  to  be  a  community  among  the 
most  spiritually  darkened  of  all  Cuba.  Hence,  it 
is  with  no  little  wonderment  that  the  active,  en- 
lightening methods  of  Mr.  Frazler  are  viewed  by 
those  among  whom  he  now  ministers.  The  wo- 
men come  to  him  for  solace  and  advice,  the  chil- 
dren flock  to  his  singing  school,  and  the  Sunday- 

268 


Cuba — ^Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay 

school  in  the  afternoon  is  filled  with  old  folks  and 
young,  who  come  to  him  after  the  hours  of  Mass. 
Even  the  local  padre  himself  finds  this  strange  her- 
etic so  pleasant  a  companion  that  he  frequently 
drops  in  to  share  a  cigar  and  gossip  of  the  times. 
If  Americans  are  to  make  impression  spiritually 
upon  this  Latin-Catholic  population  of  Cuba,  they 
will  do  it  only  through  such  intelligent  personal 
and  sympathetic  methods  as  are  here  employed. 
Mere  perfunctory  Protestant  ecclesiasticism  makes 
no  impression  upon  these  Latin-Catholic  peoples. 

Sunday  morning  we  arose  while  the  stars  yet 
blazed,  found  a  cup  of  coffee  for  our  desayuno  at 
a  little  restaurant  across  the  street,  and  at  five 
o'clock  were  in  the  cars  again  traveling  toward 
Havana. 

The  country  we  have  been  looking  on  is  quite 
as  beautiful  as  the  more  flat-lying,  but  not  more 
fertile  region  about  Matanzas,  and  I  have  felt 
that  the  many  Americans  we  have  met  everywhere, 
all  looking  for  land  to  buy  and  to  abide  upon,  are 
in  happy  quest.  They  are  entering  into  one  of  the 
veritable  garden  places  of  the  earth  and  many 
more  of  my  fellow-countrymen  will  surely  follow 
them. 


269 


XXIV 

Steamer  Mascot 

Steamer  Olivette,  between  Havana  and  Key  West, 

December  31st. 

One  learns  to  rise  early  in  these  tropical  lands. 
The  midday  siesta  here  affords  the  rest  which  we 
are  wont  to  claim  for  the  early  morning  hours.  I 
have  readily  acquired  the  habit.  To  lie  abed  is 
become  a  burden.  I  stir  abroad  betimes  as  do  all 
others.  And  I  am  sleepy  also  toward  midday, 
and  quite  inclined  to  take  a  nap  when  the  heat  is 
most  intense.  I  recall  that  two  years  ago  when  com- 
ing home  from  France,  the  only  stateroom  I  could 
obtain  upon  the  Wilhelm  der  Grosse,  was  already 
partly  taken  by  a  gentleman  from  Mexico.  I 
doubted  whether  it  would  be  pleasant  to  chum  with 
a  stranger,  but  I  had  no  choice,  so  made  the 
best  of  it.  He  had  the  upper  berth,  I  slept  below. 
But  although  we  were  a  week  upon  the  sea,  I 
never  saw  him,  and  I  do  not  to-day  know  who  he 
was.  I  was  asleep  before  he  turned  in.  I  was 
still  asleep  when,  at  break  of  dawn,  he  passed  out 

270 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  ALFONSO  XII 


Steamer  Mascot 

to  pace  the  decks.  He  took  his  midday  siesta  when 
I  was  enjoying  the  midday  sun,  or  resting  upon  my 
sea-chair.  I  then  wondered  at  the  persistent  habit 
which  drove  him  from  a  comfortable  bed  almost 
before  the  night  was  spent.  Now  I  comprehend 
his  ways,  and  if  I  were  to  voyage  seaward  to-mor- 
row, I  should  be  rising  with  the  dawn.  Yesterday 
morning  I  had  risen  at  four  o'clock,  and  had  taken 
my  desayuno  at  an  hour  when  those  at  home  are 
sunk  In  sleep. 

Overnight  a  great  storm  has  arisen.  I  tried  to 
find  out  at  the  hotel  about  the  weather,  but  in 
Havana  weather  reports  are  unknown.  The  Span- 
ish clerk  at  the  hotel  smiled  at  me  most  conde- 
scendingly for  asking  so  silly  a  question  as,  "Is  a 
storm  likely  to  be  coming  from  the  North  or  the 
South,  or  anywhere;  and  what  sort  of  a  day  are 
we  likely  to  have  to-morrow?"  Bowing  politely, 
he  spoke  In  sneering  undertone  to  his  Spanish  com- 
panion, and  then  In  broken  English  said  to  me,  "I 
never  hear  even  an  American  ask  a  question  like 
that,  Sehor.  How  we  know  what  the  weather  is 
to  be?  God  makes  the  weather  Sehor,  not  you  or 
I."  And  they  both  smiled  upon  me  with  super- 
cilious contempt.  They  took  me  for  a  fool.  Only 
a  fool  would  pretend  to  ask  what  Providence  might 
have  In  store.  So  much  for  the  Weather  Bureau 
and  the  yet  mediaeval  Spaniard ! 

271 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

When  we  left  the  harbor  a  few  hours  later,  a 
great  sea  was  tossing  gigantic  breakers  above  the 
ramparts  of  El  Moro.  We  plunged  into  the  fury 
of  a  Norther,  which  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the 
wildest  gales  of  the  midwinter.  I  might  have  put 
off  departure  a  day  or  two  if  I  had  known  of  It, 
but  Spanish  ignorance  sent  me  out  in  a  small  and 
laboring  boat  to  make  the  dangerous  ninety  miles 
across  the  straits  In  the  face  of  such  a  storm. 

After  my  breakfast,  a  Spanish  hall-boy  of  the 
hotel  had  struggled  down  the  successive  stairways 
with  my  valise.  Ordinarily,  we  would  have  taken 
the  new  electric  elevator,  but  the  American  com- 
pany which  recently  Installed  It  had  recalled  their 
experts,  and  the  Spaniard  supposed  to  run  It  in 
their  place  had  promptly  put  the  machine  out  of 
order.  The  cage  now  hung  fast  about  half-way 
up  the  shaft  awaiting  American  skill  to  set  It 
moving. 

One  of  the  many  cochas  drawn  up  before  the 
loggia  of  the  hotel  was  soon  carrying  me  to  the 
Caballerlo  Pier,  there  to  have  my  trunks  and  bags 
stamped  with  the  certificates  of  the  health  officers 
of  the  port,  and  checked  through  for  the  journey 
to  Tampa.  And  then  I  went  up  to  a  little  bird 
shop  on  Calle  Obispo,  and  took  charge  of  a  clever 
parrot,  for  which  I  had  arranged  the  day  previous, 
— a  bird  brought  from  the  Isle  of  Pines,  with  green 

272 


Steamer  Mascot 

body,  white  head,  pink  throat.  She  Is  named 
Marie,  and  yesterday  she  talked  to  me  long  and 
loud  in  Spanish.  Along  with  her  I  purchased  also 
a  pair  of  pretty  love  birds.  Perhaps  I  may  tell 
you  that  the  Marie  with  which  we  reached  Flor- 
ida could  talk  no  Spanish,  and  the  pair  of  pretty 
parakeets,  instead  of  being  loving  mates,  turned 
out  to  be  two  fighting  males.  But  all  of  this  I  only 
learned  when  many  leagues  distant  from  the  soft- 
eyed  sejiora  who  sold  them  to  me  in  the  little  shop 
on  the  Calle  Obispo. 

Our  boat  was  named  the  Mascot,  and  well  was 
It  so  christened,  for  the  fierce  billows  tried  her 
seaworthiness  to  the  limit.  The  Norther  which 
broke  its  fury  upon  the  coasts  of  Yucatan  did  not 
arouse  so  angry  a  sea  as  that  which  fought  the  cur- 
rents of  the  Florida  Strait. 

The  greater  number  of  our  passengers  were 
Cubans  going  across  to  work  in  the  tobacco  fac- 
tories at  Key  West.  It  was  apparently  their  first 
experience  of  the  sea.  They  filled  the  forward 
decks,  and  gay  and  lively  was  their  company  as 
they  waved  their  adios  to  their  shouting  friends 
ashore.  The  tempestuous  waters  caught  us  before 
we  even  left  the  bay.  We  were  steaming  out  dead 
In  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  and  the  little  boat  pitched 
until  she  almost  stood  on  end,  and  rolled  as  though 
her  gunwales  would  be  every  time  awash.  Our 
i8  273 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

Cubans  soon  lost  their  speech  and  then  their  break- 
fasts, and  were  at  last  filled  with  fear  alone.  They 
were  scarcely  recovered  when  we  made  fast  to 
the  long  pier  at  Key  West,  and  did  not  regain  their 
cheerfulness  until  their  legs  were  fifmly  set  upon 
the  land. 

Key  West  boasts  a  larger  Cuban-Latin  popu- 
lation than  native  American,  and  sonorous  Span- 
ish speech  falls  more  frequently  upon  my  ear  than 
th-i-th-ing-  s-i-s-sing-  English;  yet  I  behold  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  floating  above  me  and  know  my- 
self at  home. 

My  journey  through  Mexico  and  Cuba  is  at  an 
end,  and  I  am  returned  to  the  United  States.  I 
now  experience  again  the  same  shock  of  transition 
which  so  moved  me  when  a  few  weeks  ago  I 
crossed  the  Rio  Grande  and  entered  Mexico.  For 
many  days  have  I  beheld  and  felt  the  puissant 
tenacity  of  a  civilization  older  than  my  own ;  a  civ- 
ilization once  world-dominant  and  still  haughty 
and  assertive,  which  begat  arrogant  war-lord  and 
subservient  slave,  which  exalted  the  few  and 
crushed  the  many,  and  which  to-day  while  It  ap- 
plauds and  assumes  the  outward  habiliments  of 
democracy,  yet  underneath  retains  the  flesh  and 
blood  of  despotic  Individualism;  a  civilization,  nev- 
ertheless, marked  by  the  highest  appreciation  of 
all  that  appeals  to  the  finer  senses  in  splendor  of 

274 


Conclusion 

religious  ritual,  in  sensuousness  In  art,  and  in  the 
graceful  and  the  ornate  in  architecture;  in  music 
and  in  belles-lettres. 

For  the  masterful  rule  of  Diaz  I  had  come 
prepared,  but  of  the  numerous  well-ordered  and 
well-built  Mexican  cities  I  had  no  thought.  The 
discovery  that  here  had  been  successfully  applied 
the  principles  of  municipal  ownership  of  public 
utilities  centuries  before  Chicago,  San  Francisco, 
and  New  York  had  debated  their  problems,  came  to 
me  as  a  revelation,  and  when  I  beheld  the  noble 
cities  of  Mexico,  of  Toluca,  of  Morelia,  of  San 
Louis  Potosi,  of  Monterey,  and  many  others, 
giving  for  three  hundred  years  free  water  and 
free  illumination  to  their  people,  and  through- 
out these  centuries  adorned  with  well-kept  parks 
where  flowers  bloomed,  artistic  fountains  flowed, 
and  music  played,  for  the  free  enjoyment  of  the 
poorest  peon  as  well  as  the  millionaire  grandee,  I 
was  fain  to  bethink  me  whether  the  practical, 
money-getting  American  might  not  after  all  take 
lessons  from  his  Latin  brother  of  the  South. 

The  romance  of  Mexico's  early  history,  the 
travail  and  triumph  of  Montezuma  and  Malinche, 
of  Pagan  teocali  and  Christian  cross,  stirred  my 
imagination  and  aroused  my  interest  to  highest 
pitch,  while  the  present  progressiveness  of  Mex- 
ico's people,  the  enlightenment  of  her  leaders,  the 

275 


On  the  Mexican  Highlands 

noble  efforts  she  has  made,  and  Is  now  making  to 
keep  step  with  the  procession  of  human  progress, 
excited  my  sympathy. 

Nor  have  I  ceased  to  marvel  at  the  extraor- 
dinary geographic  and  climatic  gifts  which  nature 
has  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  this  favored  land;  a 
country  where  every  climate  from  the  heats  of 
Yucatan  to  the  cool  airs  of  Quebec  are  brought  to- 
gether within  the  compass  of  a  journey  of  a  single 
day;  where  teeming  tropics  and  fertile  highlands 
alike  pour  out  their  frultfulness  for  the  use  of  man; 
where  alone  upon  the  North  American  Continent 
has  beneficent  nature  presented  conditions  which 
made  It  possible  for  mankind  to  develop  an  Indig- 
enous civilization  of  advancing  type; — upon  these 
plateaus  existed  well-built  stone-and-mortar  cities 
centuries  before  Cortez  and  the  Spaniard  set  foot 
upon  her  shores;  here  successful  agriculture  has 
prevailed  In  uninterrupted  continuity  for  a  thou- 
sand years ;  here  precious  metals  have  been  dug  and 
worked  by  man  for  unnumbered  centuries;  and 
upon  these  salubrious  highlands  more  than  a  mile 
above  the  sea,  beneath  the  shadows  of  her  snow- 
capped Sierras,  man  has  developed,  and  may  yet 
develop,  the  highest  energy  of  the  temperate  zones. 

I  confess  that  despite  a  general  knowledge,  I 
yet  entered  Mexico  ignorant,  sadly  Ignorant,  of 
one  of  the  most  splendid  portions  of  the  earth's  do» 

276 


Conclusion 

main,  and  while  my  glimpses  of  this  great  country 
have  necessarily  been  limited  and  partial,  yet  I 
have  seen  enough  of  her  mineral  and  agricultural 
wealth,  the  solidity  and  comfort  of  her  cities,  the 
vigor  and  Intelligence  of  her  people,  to  assure  me 
that  the  Republic  of  Mexico  is  destined  to  be  no 
puny  factor  in  promoting  the  advancement  of  the 
world,  as  well  as  the  further  increase  in  riches  and 
power  of  the  sister  Republic  wherein  I  dwell. 

Nor  has  my  transitory  glimpse  of  Cuba,  "Pearl 
of  the  Antilles,"  as  she  is,  caused  me  the  less  to 
marvel  at  the  abounding  fertility  which  constitutes 
her  a  veritable  garden,  and  the  charm  of  her  cli- 
mate, free  of  all  frosts,  yet  temperate  enough, 
amidst  the  cooling  breezes  of  the  all-surrounding 
seas,  to  make  her  the  home  of  white  races  which 
hold  fast  to  their  primitive  energies  although 
within  the  tropics.  While  in  imagination  I  behold 
her,  at  no  distant  date,  taking  her  proud  place 
among  the  galaxy  of  States  of  the  great  Republic 
of  the  North  and  vying  with  the  most  splendid 
of  them  in  opulence  and  power. 


277 


INDEX 

Pagb 
ACAMBARO, 46-87 

AcAPULCo,  Highway  to, 99 

Alamo,  Thb, 41 

Anahuac,  Valley  of, 52 

Ario, 107 

Arrive  at  City  of  Mexico, 54 

AzTECA  Mines, 135 

Balsas,  The  Rio, 152 

Boys,  The  Little  Stolen,  Etc., 214 

BuENA  Vista,  Battlefield  of, 46 

Bull  Fight,  A, 75 

CabaSa  La,  The  Fortress,      ...        ^        -        -       236 

Cathedral,  City  of  Mexico, 61 

Charleston-Kanawha,  Leaving, IS 

Chocolate,  A  Cup  of, 159 

Church,  Roman, 61-63-178 

Churumuco, 155 

CiMA,  La, 52 

Comments  on  Municipal  Methods, 172 

Copper  Industry  and  Utensils, 102 

Cotton  Lands  of  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  Texas,  -        -  21-40-43 

Crossing  Florida  Strait, 273 

Cruelty  of  the  Spanish  Blood, 118 

Cruelty,  Spanish,  Burying  alive, 237 

Cuban,  A  Mansion, 232 

279 


Index 

Pagb 
CUERNAVACA, 188 

CuYACo,  The  Hacienda  La, 123 

CuYACO,  The  Rancho, 159 

Descending  La  China  Mine, 137 

El  Padre, 95-187 

English,  Spread  of  the  Language  in  Mexico,  ...  174 
Fiesta  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadaloupe,      -        -        -         165-185 

Fonda  Diligencia, 97 

French  Market,  New  Orleans, 31 

French  Quarter,  The  Vieux  Carre, 30 

Garcia,  Senor  Don  Licenciado  Vicente  Garcia,  -  -  170 
Guadaloupe,  Fiesta  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadaloupe,  -  -  165 
A  Guest  of  "  Senora  General  "  Wood,  -        -        -       228 

Gulf  of  Mexico,  Crossing  the, 212 

Habana, 220 

Havana,  A  Private  House  in, 231 

Havana,  Markets  of, 22S 

Havana,  The  Opera  House, 228 

Hotel  Concordia, -        93 

Hotel  Iturbide, -        •    SS 

Hotel  Jardin,  Mexico  City, 264 

Hotel  Jardin,  Morelia, 181 

Hon  el  Metropolitan, 204 

Hotel  Morellos, 114 

Hotel  Pasaje, 221 

Hotel  St.  Charles, 25 

Incidents  in  Land  of  Heat, 161 

Inguran  Mines, 117 

Italians  in  Mississippi,  Etc., 22 

Iztaccihuatl,  Volcano  of,  ......    53 

Izus  Hernandes,  Our  Mozo, 9S 

280 


Index 

Page 

Jackson  Square,  Reflections  on  History  of,  -  -  -  29 
Jefe  Politico,  A,      -        -        -        -        -        -        --       109 

Jesuits  in  Morelia, 180 

JoRULLO,  Volcano  of,       ------        -       122 

Kentucky,  Passing  through, 17 

Lakes— 

Chalco, 53-69 

CUITZBO, 88 

Patzcuaro, 88-99 

Tezcoco, 53-69 

XocHiMiLCO, 53-69 

Llanos,  Crossing  the, 143 

Laredo, ----43 

Lawyer,  A  Lawyer  of  Ario,  ------       US 

Military  Macaws, 131 

Mantillas,  Buying, 202 

Mariel, 264 

Masonic  Bond,  Strength  of  in  Mexico,  -  -  -  -  50 
Masso,  General,  and  the  Revolution,        ....  249 

Matanzas, --       254 

Memphis, 21 

Mexico  City,  First  Impression  of, 56 

Mexico  City,  Characteristics  of,  -  -  -  -  -  65 
Mexican  Travelers,  ..-.-..  i60 
MiCHOACAN,  The  Congress  of  the  State  of,       -        -        -  168 

Mining,  Antique  Methods  of, 129 

MiNA  La  China,  The  China  Mines, 136 

MiNA  La  China,  Descending  the,     ....        -       137 

MiNA  El  Puerto, 145 

Mines,  The  Inguran, 117 

Mississippi,  Traversing  State  of, 23 

281 


Index 

Pack 

Monterey,         -----....         45 

Monterey,  Passing  through, 45 

Moonlight,  Brilliancy  of, 100 

MORELIA, 89 

MoRELiA,  Description  of, 172 

Morelia,  Life  in, 176 

New  Orleans,  Life  and  Color  of, 25 

New  Orleans,  Water  Traffic, 37 

NoRiA  Mines, 134-150 

Nuevo  Laredo, 44 

Orizaba,  Volcano  of, -        -       203 

Orphans  from  the  Reconcentrado  Camps,  ...  255 

Oropeo,  Hacienda  de, 132 

Patzcuaro,  Lake, 88 

Patzcuaro,  Town, 91 

Pompano,  Eating  a, 27 

Popocatepetl,  Volcano  of.  First  Sight  of,   -        -        -         S3 

Prado,  The,  Havana, 222 

Progresso,  Yucatan, 212 

Provincial  Despot,  A,  and  His  Residence,  ...  107 

Pulque, 70 

Pulque,  Origin  of  Legend, 73 

Rancho  Nuevo, 120 

Ravens, 103 

Ready  for  Revolution, 250 

Restaurants  in  Mexico  City,  Remarks  on,        -        -        -    57 

Revolution,  Ready  for  in  Cuba, 250 

Saltillo,  Passing  Near, 46 

Sam,  "  Mr.  Sam,"  of  Vera  Cruz, 205 

Saving  the  Children,  Matanzas, 255 

Saving  the  Children,  Mariel, 265 

282 


Index 

Page 
Santa  Clara, 106 

Saving  the  Children,  Guanajay,     -        -  -        -      267 

San  Nicholas,  College  of, 180 

San  Luis  Potosi, 48 

San  Pedro,  Rancho, 126 

Scorpions, *"       1^4 

Southern  Pacific  Railway, 39 

San  Antonio, 41 

Sugar  Cane,  Louisiana, 23-39 

Sugar  Cane,  Cuba, 252 

Tame  Vultures  of  Vera  Cruz, 206 

Taylor,  Incident  Regarding  Governor,        -        -        -         20 

Tenochtitlan, S3 

Theaters,  Mexico, 199 

Tio. 93 

Titian,  A  Picture  by.  Legend  of, 91 

Tobacco  Lands  of  Guanajay,  Cuba, 262 

Toluca, 181 

ToLucA,  Life  in, 183 

Tortillas,  Making, 132 

Vendettas  of  Kentucky, 17 

Vera  Cruz  to  Cuba, 10 

Vieux  Carr^,  New  Orleans, 26 

Yucatan, 216 

Yucatan,  Strait  of,     --------  217 

Yucataka,  Senator,         208 

Walled  up  Alive, 241 

Water-fowl  on  Lakes, 88 

Water  to  Cities  and  Towns, 108 

Map, 284 

283 


-4--^H^-r;:;: 

s.„. <.ion:.</-i^      "ir-C^,.. j>t.ioS*V".'."-';'  /"— ^'v — <as'  '  ^'j 


'"i^JAMAIoT- 


iLK  HI  cAX 


IJ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

Thi94)aa]Lis_DyE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


MAY  4 
■AYl 


Mr 


i  0  imk 


IIIAY21  1949 
MAR  1  3  nm 


vo 


M^S- 


i9i*4 


^^^1 


m  1 8  \sf3 

MAY    2  191 


1^     Mflv 
JUL  2  8  Iddl 


^v 


FormL-9-20,„.8/37 


University  ot  Calilornia.  Los  Angeles 


L  006  345  355  9 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY  I 


AA    001  039  827    9 


